


Curses and Blessings

by semiiramiis (HikaruAdjani)



Series: Fog and Roses [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Worgen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruAdjani/pseuds/semiiramiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second part to Fog and Roses. Ban and Evelyn are sent to Stormwind as part of Genn's vanguard, and emissaries for Gilneas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Evelyn Whittaker woke up. Although the world had stopped rolling hours ago, she still felt nauseous and ill, and the weather wasn't helping to settle her stomach. Banastre slept on the floor within touching distance, stretched out to his full length, awkwardly on his back, front paws curled up. His jaws lolled open, his tongue hung out, and he was panting… punctuated by an occasional thick growl. The boat ride had not bothered him, he was more of a sailor than she'd ever manage, but the heat was an ever-present annoyance. Why he'd gone back to his heavily coated worgen form was beyond her, he'd been sleeping in his human form more and more, but she sensed he slept poorly. If he was having nightmares, he'd change, and those growls certainly sounded like nightmares to her.

"Ban." She was smarter than to physically touch him when he was like this, although they'd determined that he was no longer infectious, his bite was still the bite of a four hundred pound canine with inch long fangs. She instead prodded him with a broomstick, and his eyes shot open.

"Eh." He grumbled, melding back into his human form. "What?"

"You were growling and hissing." She grumbled pettishly, and he sent her a measuring look. He stood, stretched, and scratched his belly thoughtfully, rubbing the edge of the largest scar that rose, pale and taut, there. Evelyn knew what it was, he'd been hit by a Gilnean long arm, at close range, during his Change, and the scar was a lifelong reminder. Of course, the all too obvious slash marks of claws across his chest were as well. And, newly scabbed over, the intricate mark that symbolized he was a member of Genn's pack, carved into his shoulder. Once, Ban had been a fine and genteel Gilnean merchant's son, mostly unmarked. So much had changed so quickly….

"Stomach still bothering you?" He asked levelly and she sighed. He'd grown up so much in this last year; the old Ban would have risen to the argument with avidity and aplomb. Now, he just let it go.

"Yes."

He nodded, glancing around their sweltering room and shrugging. There was little he could do, and she understood that. "Sorry, Evie." He murmured, throwing his shirt on. He had slept in his thinnest, most ragged pair of breeches, and now looked like some wastrel vagrant instead of the Banastre she had grown up with. But, even if he still had the clothes of a well to do Gilnean merchant handy, it was much too warm for them.

"For Gilneas." She replied, not bothering the bleed the snide overtones off of the two words. She loved Gilneas; indeed, nothing would make her happier than to take Banaste home to it. Make a lovely dinner that wasn't elven…in fact, to just forget she'd ever even seen an elf. Forget about this sweltering hell hole called Stormwind. Light a fire in the grate, and sit next to him in their home, cozy and comfortable. Why had they become integral, necessary parts of this, known by Genn? Why did Ban bear the scabbing, pink mark carved into his very flesh by the king's claw itself? Why couldn't they be just refugees, still held in Teldrassil? At least the elven lands had been cooler than this…

"For Gilneas." There was no snide in his reply, only an intense sadness, and she dropped her chin. She wasn't sure what to do with this new Ban, and not entirely certain she liked him this way. He'd survived the unthinkable…but then again, he hadn't. The Banastre she'd grown up with was no more. There was no wailing about his clothing, or lack thereof. No distain for his shaggy hair and thickening beard. The scars went without comment. He'd stood still to receive yet another one. He felt bowed, devastated, and she didn't know what to do. She had only lost her home, he'd lost so much more than that… His expression sharpened, and he glanced towards the window. "The sooner we do this, the sooner we get it back, Evie."

That was an incontrovertible fact. Genn's stance was the only one that made sense, and even their presence here backed that up. "Go to Stormwind. Be a couple, look like every other young refugee couple flooding Stormwind. I hear there are many, just slide into them. I want to know what I'm getting into before I arrive. I want my pack on the ground, integrated, before I arrive, in case…."

Evelyn sighed, sliding out of the damp bed and moving up beside Ban. The King was correct; this place was uncomfortably filled with refugees. As long as they didn't talk, they didn't stand out. Unfortunately, Ban came with the long, luxurious drawl of a well to do Gilnean, and Evelyn was all too sharply aware that she shared his accent. The sharp, blunt accents of Stormwind's citizens were abrasive and ugly. Their clothing was garish and often immoral. Their manners were harsh and nosy. Everything here glared and baked, so very foreign to her nerves.

"I know, Ban."

"What's wrong?" He asked slowly, and she sighed. What was wrong? What was right?

"Ban…" He only stared at her until she sat, unwilling to stand any more. Her stomach was still rolling uncomfortably, her head pounded. "I miss you." There, it was out. She hadn't wanted to say it quite so bluntly, but it just sort of fell out, fueled by frustration. He tilted his head at her quizzically, and she flicked her fingertips at him. "Look at you! You're a disaster. I mean…" She hid her face in her hands, fighting back tears. She felt him sit beside her, and he finally gave in and rested his arm over her shoulders. It was safe to lean against him, to try and blot out the heat and the obnoxiously loud common room below them.

"Evie?"

"Ban, I fought so hard to get you back, but it's like I only got a ghost of you back. It's like you've been broken, you're just not yourself. The Ban I grew up with would have never been caught dead in what you're wearing. Please… please…" Come back to yourself. I can handle you being a worgen, but I can't handle this.

He sighed, stroking her hair. "What can I do?" He finally asked, "Evie?"

"You're not dead! Stop acting like you are!" He had been focused and alive during the assaults on Gilneas, but now, he had fallen into a dark lassitude. She had been dreading his reaction when he had the time to digest what had happened to him, but this was beyond what she had thought possible. "Damnit, Ban, you're all I have and if…" If she lost him, it would all be gone. What was the point of fighting to regain Gilneas, if all it would be was a haunted, empty land without him? What was the point of getting the house back if it would just be a memory of loss? Not a chance of filling it with joy again? "If I lose you, what's the point?"

"I'm… cursed, Evelyn."

She glared at him through her fingers, and he gave her a sheepish, lopsided smile in answer. "We're all cursed, Banastre! Are you going to tell Genn to give up? There are those who say that the affliction was a blessing in disguise…." And a frightening number of those who said so were actually worgen. But Evelyn could see it; she'd ridden alongside Ban headed into a conflict. He had become so glorious, if he could only see it. Grasp it.

"They're fools. So glut filled with bloodlust that they can't see their muzzles in front of their eyes."

Evelyn sighed, and only half of it was from disgust. The rest was from a sudden, rising nausea. She groaned, and dived back into the dubious comfort of her bed. Let him figure it out, if he was willing to. All she wanted to do was sleep until this ended…

She felt him get up, heard him playing in the basin of tepid water resting on the battered chest of drawers. "No." She grumbled. "It's hot. I don't…"

He rested a deliciously chilled cloth on her forehead and she sighed in ecstasy. "Remember." He chuckled, "I may not be the greatest mage in all existence, but I excel in comfort. Get some sleep, Evie. You'll feel better afterwards."

Maybe. Probably. She sighed and relaxed, uncertain if she could manage it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ban heard the moment she fell into a more settled sleep, and he stared at her. She'd been so strong through all that they'd been through that he'd been relying on her to just keep going, without respite. She'd been carrying too much of their burden, he'd been slacking. She was right, he'd fallen too far. He stood, took a handful of coins, and glanced at the sleeping mastiff crammed under Evelyn's bed. That one would take care of any problems that might crop up, and Evie herself was a formidable foe. She should be fine without him for a little bit. It was time to start coming back to himself. Certainly, Genn had asked for them to play as refugees, as if that was much of a play, but perhaps he didn't need to take it so far. It wasn't fair to Evelyn. Not fair to him.

He moved down the inn's back stairs, and out into the streets, aware he looked like the wastrel Evelyn accused him of being. It was more difficult to grasp himself back after those months running feral in the Headlands than he had considered, but she was correct. He needed to step back. He couldn't keep running wild, in his heart if not his body. He avoided the largest groups of men, cutting through the alleys until he found a promising looking tailor's shop. While he despised Stormwind's so called fashions, he understood that the weather here did not lend itself to propriety; at least he could get some clothing that was intact and clean. And after that, a shave and a haircut…

The proprietor glanced warily at him, and he shrugged. "Long voyage. Hard on the wardrobe."

"Right. What are you looking for?"

Ban almost responded sarcastically, with the observation that he was looking for clothes, but bit it back. From what he could see, these people were loud, brash, and it was his experience that loud and brash usually came with a willingness to throw fists. Genn's orders were explicit. Ban, and the others, were not to show their worgen natures. They had been chosen for their willingness to hide that, not to flaunt it. "This place is damnably hot." He grumbled. "As cool as possible?"

He purchased some clothing, as suitable as he was going to get, thin, billowy shirts and some breeches, before turning his attention to the dress hanging behind the man. "And that, as well. And the directions to a decent barber." If he was going to do what he was going to do, then he needed to look the part. His family would have a difficult time recognizing him like this; people he was only faintly acquainted with would not have a chance in hell to place him.

A visit to the barber got his hair trimmed, scrubbed, and braided into submission… he was suddenly loathe to let it go completely. And as for his beard, he was already well aware that if he lost it in his human form, he'd lose it in his worgen form, and that was just an insult he wasn't prepared to deal with. But it was also trimmed, edged, and neatly groomed. While he didn't quite look like Banastre Russell anymore, at least he wouldn't be laughed completely out of existence for claiming to be himself.

He paid, collected his bundles, and headed out, taking a firm turn towards the docks. Genn had never said that they shouldn't admit to being Gilnean, only that they shouldn't show their worgen natures. That was fine, where Ban was going, the only thing he wanted visible was the fact he was Gilnean. He walked down the import way, until he saw the office he was looking for. Most people believed that Gilneas had given up all contact with the outside world since the Wall went up, and ignored the obvious questions as to how the Russell and Whittaker families could make a fortune on imports and exports. Importing from whom? Exporting to…whom?

He knocked arrogantly on the door, and stepped in when he heard the hail from beyond. The man behind the desk facing the door was vaguely familiar, and Ban struggled unsuccessfully for his name.

"Who're you, and what do you want?" The man demanded in the clipped, tones of a Kul'Tiras native, narrowing dark eyes at Ban.

"I am Banastre Russell…"

The man may not have recognized him, but his eyes narrowed at the name. "Hannibal's Ban?" He asked, and Ban nodded warily. "Been a long time, boy. A long time indeed… you were elbow high on me the last time I clapped eyes on you. Sit. Sit." The man gestured imperiously at the chair on the other side of the desk, and Ban took it. "Stormwind. An honest to goodness Gilnean, in Stormwind."

Ban prodded his memories to be certain, and then nodded. This was who he was looking for. "I am indeed in Stormwind, Master Carther." He agreed slowly. Bram had known this man better than he ever had, but then, Bram was to take over the business. Ban barely knew any of his father's business associates; he knew them truly only from the entries in the ledgers. And he'd always bothered to keep an eye on those…

"Then there's some weight to the rumors I've been hearing. The Wall has fallen. Gilneas has…fallen?"

"For now." Ban didn't bother to bleed the defiance from his voice, and the man nodded agreeably. "But we have dealings…"

A tinge of the man's agreeable nature faded, he nodded and stood, glancing down the row of ledgers on a shelf next to him. "And you, forced from Gilneas, have come for an accounting of our dealings because you need money."

Well, Ban had always been warned that they were bitterly blunt, and now he had the proof of it. A Gilnean would have gnawed a limb off before being so straightforward about such a happening, but this one leapt right into it. "Yes."

"Ah. Then, I need an accounting myself." He discovered the ledger he was looking for, slid it out, and dropped it unceremoniously on the desk. "You have signatory rights on your father's business interests. So I can give you a withdrawal on just that."

Ban nodded, with only the two sons, his father had been adamant. Ban might not be the best for the job, but he was needed in case of Bram's indisposition or absence. "I've had no word from Hannibal in months. No word from Bram since our last shipment for goods for his wedding. We're aware something terrible happened, and it happened a long time before the Wall fell recently. Now you turn up, in Stormwind, looking lean and hungry. And I know that look takes a good long time to grind in like you have it. I recognize you, boy, but…what happened to your father?"

"My father is dead."

Sadness but no surprise crossed the man's face; Ban had merely confirmed what he already believed. "Bram?"

"Is dead."

Carther sighed, leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his chest as he surveyed the ceiling above him. "You're it?"

"I have Evelyn with me." Ban wasn't even certain if the man knew who she was, but it sounded better than admitting to being it.

"Whittaker's daughter. Your brother's….fiancée? Widow?"

"Fiancée. Bram died before the wedding."

"Ah. So you, and Miss Whittaker, are here, in Stormwind, and are light on finances."

"Yes." While it was all well and good to be a member of Genn's royal pack, discharged with his duties, Ban was all too well aware that Genn was also probably in straitened circumstances. There had been other things to worry about during the fall of Gilneas than the royal coffers. It was ironic that the first Russell to finally get a royal appointment did so when there was no gold in that appointment.

"Here is an accounting of where you sit with us."

Ban cautiously turned the ledger. His last comprehension was that Hannibal had been holding a goodly amount of cash in Boralus, safely away from the fall of Gilneas. He was relieved to see the number was close to that last goodly number he'd been privy to. "And…" Carther continued, "If you sign to release the cargoes held in your warehouses, this…." He flipped over a page, pointing to a much larger number, "Will be where you sit with us. Absolutely enough to keep you and Miss Whittaker in fair comfort in Stormwind, as long as you both could live."


	3. Chapter 3

"Evelyn." Ban sounded…excited, and she opened a cautious eye. It had been so long since he'd been anything even close to that, she almost didn't believe her ears. He grinned at her when she locked that eye with his, and she opened them both in disbelief. He didn't quite look…like he had, but he'd cleaned up a miraculous amount. He was still sporting a beard, but it had been barbered correctly. His hair was tied back. His clothes were new, clean, intact. "Get your things, we're leaving."

"We are?" Not that was a particularly bad thing; she wasn't pleased with the inn they'd been pointed to, but where else to go?

"We are."

"Fine." They hadn't even unpacked, so she simply grabbed her pack, and the mastiff's leash, and fell into step behind him. He maneuvered through the crowded streets gracefully, moving farther and farther away from the docks. The streets became less packed, quieter, calmer and Evelyn felt herself relaxing. There was even an attempt at a breeze; this area was higher than the warehouse district, tucked up next to the Keep. He moved slower, uncertain, before he finally stopped before a modest house and nodded, delving in his pockets. He produced a key, held it up to the fading light, and inserted it in the door lock.

"Ban, what?" She asked as he let himself in, and warily followed when he motioned her to. "Whose house is this?"

He shrugged, dropped the key on the small table in the foyer. "Ours for the time being. I've rented it."

"Rented?" She echoed, and bit back a retort. She'd just asked for him to start acting like himself again, if she tore into the first moment that he actually did, he'd have reason enough to fade back into his shell. Ban was used to being wealthy; he didn't quite grasp doing without. She knew exactly how much they'd fled Gilneas with, and was more than certain that Genn hadn't been able to finance this.

"It's cheaper than the inn if we mean to stay here for any length of time." He defended his actions, gazing at her. "The prices in Stormwind will continue to rise as long as they're still taking in refugees. And I, for one, want a quiet place for awhile. Also, I have a position here…."

"Eh?" What was that? He couldn't mean what she thought he meant?

"A job, Evelyn. I have a job. Actually, so do you, if you want to take it."

She stared at him narrowly. He'd been in Stormwind for less than a day, and thought he had a job he was willing to take? And, with even greater insanity, a job he was willing to have her take? The place was, as he'd noted, crawling with refugees, they all had to be looking to make money… "Go on." She stated, and he shrugged.

"Danforth Carther."

She pondered the name. It was so…damned…familiar. She'd met him…before. At home. It finally caught, and she frowned. "The Kul'tirasian?"

"Exactly."

Fine, maybe he wasn't as insane as she'd feared. She knew the man; he'd been a business partner since she'd been in short skirts. While her father had trusted the man implicitly, that meant little…Ethan Whittaker had been a trusting sort. The important thing was that Hannibal Russell had trusted Carther, and Ban's father had been no man quick to trust.

"A position would be preferable to just waiting here." Evelyn admitted, and it would make them look much less…suspicious. Certainly, they were refugees, but now they were refugees with a home and jobs. Respectable sorts, not common riffraff. Let others that Genn had sent settle into the disreputable back alleys of Stormwind, Ban was not that man. She was not that woman. They would stick out like sore thumbs trying to play a game they didn't understand. "It's a fine idea, Banastre."

"Good. Get some rest….your room is the one in the front of the house… upstairs. There's a yard as well, for the mastiff. It's not much of one, but it's outside."

He moved through the silent house, and she followed, opening the door off of the small kitchen into the promised yard. It was barely large enough to keep a pig in, but he was correct, it was outside. She put the dog out before following him upstairs and stepping into the room he motioned at.

It, like the home, was modest, and Evelyn smiled. There was a pile of clothing tossed on the bed, a lovely, embroidered dress on top. Well, he definitely seemed to be feeling more like she was accustomed to. "Thank you, Ban." She grinned, spinning to press a kiss to his cheek.

He bowed gracefully, flourishing an imaginary top hat. "I'll be down the hall." He pointed to another door.

Ban woke, and took a long time to place exactly where he was. It was not entirely unheard of that he would wake up in a strange bed in a strange room, it had once been commonplace. But that had happened before he'd gained the tight scar his hand rested upon, the scar from when Lord Darius Crowley had lowered a long arm at him and let him have both barrels. He'd been mad with the change then, he could barely remember the pain. It had obviously not stopped him; he'd survived it, and the months after it, without medical attention.

The room was warm, although the window shutters hung widely open above him. He glanced at the window, but he'd chosen the back room, which faced the wall, because it had no clear lines of sight into it. Maybe others were better at holding their human forms while they slept, but he still slipped all the time. Yet another reason to get out of that inn…they could blame the growling on the mastiff for only so long.

He dressed, and went downstairs, not surprised to find Evelyn awake already. She glowered at him, and he paused in midstride. What had he done, now? She had been happy last night…

"Eh?" He greeted cautiously, and she smacked a dented tin plate down on the table in front of him.

"There's nothing to eat, it's the best I can do. I'll go marketing today; I'll go work for Carther tomorrow."

He glanced at the plate, already knowing it had field rations on it. He knew better than to say a word, and merely sat to eat, ignoring Evelyn as she growled around the kitchen.

"Right. I'll let him know." The best thing would be to not prod this mood she was in, he simply left a stack of coins by the empty plate, and let himself out. Once out onto the street, he stepped into a sunnier stride, buying a delectable smelling something from a street hawker and walking towards the docks. A good night of sleep in a bed that did not roll, in a quiet home, had worked wonders for his mood. Tidy clothing, and a reason to be here more concrete than "Test the pulse of Stormwind's capital." made this morning easier to handle than yesterday's had been. He wasn't any sort of undercover agent, he was a merchant, and it was time to start acting like one.

"Good morning." He greeted Carther when he stepped into the man's offices, and received a broad smile in return. He wasn't entirely certain what position he would be considered suitable for, or Evelyn, for that matter, but he was willing to listen and find out.

"Your father was quite proud of your mathematical abilities. Said no one could balance a ledger as quickly and accurately as you did. I know Whittaker's daughter received the same schooling you did, and is also quite adept. Those skills aren't easy to come by, Banastre, and with the unrest, there are fewer around willing and able to do them. The army is paying good coin for ledger clerks; the Crown is as well…" The man gazed at him measuringly, and Ban only shrugged.

"I've no interest in serving the Stormwind army or Crown, while Gilneas's king is still alive and well."

"Genn lives? That's good." Ban could feel that the man had a torrent of questions, but he'd had years of experience dealing with Gilnean merchants, and knew better than to ask. "Give me the ledgers and I'll get started."

It was comforting to sit at the desk before the counting frame, to feel the beads, and lose himself in the rhythmic clacking. It felt like home. It felt right.

Evelyn paused in the office door, her heart clenching. Only Ban could count like she heard, and seeing him stooped over the desk was like being ripped back in time. She had the same education as he had, been in the same schoolroom for years, and it had been obvious from the time he was a stripling lad, that Ban understood numbers like he grasped breathing. Hannibal had been beyond proud, for all of Bram's honest trustworthiness; Ban's older brother had not been particularly bright. A good man, beyond reproach, but it had been obvious that Banastre had the intellect that he lacked. Ban was brilliant, and Evelyn stood staring.

Even though she'd seen him do this a thousand times before, it still awed her. He flicked through the beads with his right hand like a child delighting in their sound, too quickly to actually be counting. His left kept up a thumb to fingertip count apparently separate from the count with his right. His lips twitched, but he remained stubbornly silent.

"Miss Whittaker." Carther greeted and she gave him a habitual half curtsey. "Welcome."

"I brought Ban a lunch." She held up the bundle dangling from her fingertips.

"Good. Boy is too thin." His words were aimed at her, but his gaze fell squarely on Ban's back. "I see what Hannibal meant, now."

"No one counts like Ban, he's…brilliant."

Carther only nodded, his gaze falling back on her. "Used to be a dandy…"

"So he grew up. It's what his father was waiting for." Ban had finally realized she was there, looking up from the ledger and counting board. She smiled, holding up the bundle and he nodded, standing, and stretching. "Lunch!"

"Oooooh!" He grinned, "I'm starving. Thank you, Evelyn." He took the bundle and opened it on his desk. He sat to eat in silence, his gaze flicking between her and Carther.

"You say you've a position for me as well?" She asked cautiously. What position? She was nowhere near the clerk that Ban was, but she had plenty of experience in a warehouse office. She wouldn't even turn her nose up at honest cleaning, but she'd been warned about foreigners, and from what she'd seen in Stormwind, she was inclined to believe those warnings. Way too many men had stared in way too pointed a way at her when she'd done the shopping. Their eyes had lingered in a manner that would have brought any of the Russell men's outrage out. Hannibal would have stared. Bram would have glared. And Ban… always quick to let loose the mastiff on a man he didn't like the looks of. He'd lost the mastiff, now he was the threat.

"Checking manifest reports. I believe that was what you did for Hannibal." Dark sadness shadowed his eyes for a moment, before he chased it away. "The Crown and the army are snapping up anybody loyal to Stormwind who has even a hint of trade abilities. You're literate. You can do ciphers. And you have years of experience. Just because you're not…" He jerked his chin at Ban. Caught with a full mouth, Ban just stared back, and then shrugged. "That one, doesn't mean I don't have an honest position for you. Stormwind is full of people, looking for work, but I don't know them. I know both of you."

"We're grateful." The very offer felt like a return to some semblance of normalcy that had been missing from her life for too long. A home, with Ban in it. A reason to get up, get dressed, and not go hunting for worgen…sublime. It probably wouldn't last long, but Evelyn would take it while she could get it.

"No reason to be. It's good for all of us."

Well, Evelyn could see that. Even in Gilneas City, it had not been easy to find good clerks, too many were like Hannibal… who had done his own ledger work, until his sons and adopted daughter could be taught to run the family business. "See you at…home, Ban." She muttered, and he waved in agreement.


	4. Chapter 4

Integrate. Place his finger on the pulse of Stormwind. Ban looked out over the city he'd spent the last week in, and shrugged. It was not home. It was not Gilneas. It was full of things he wasn't sure set well with him, but overall, it had promise. Not as a place to live, permanently, but that was not the plan. Only Gilneas would be the place to live permanently, and to do that meant liberating it from the damnable Forsaken. And, from the rumors on the streets, this Alliance sounded like they might be convinced to aid in that endeavor. Ban saw issues, of course, but there were always issues. Their past behavior would be one of them. The worgen curse, another. They couldn't hide that. Eventually, it would come out. Eventually, it would all come out. He frowned, watching the ocean churn in the same timeless manner as it did against Gilneas's shores. They would be freaks. Cowards. Not something he was looking forward to, but he didn't see a way around it that got Gilneas returned to them.

He sighed, turning to move back along the docks towards Carther's offices. The door hung open, and he heard a voice, Carther's, wary. He pulled back from it, listening. His hearing had always been better than average, and now, was bordering on the supernatural… it was all too easy to eavesdrop.

"What does SI:7 want with a merchant like me?"

Oh, definitely. Every government had one, and it hadn't taken Ban long to place a name to Stormwind's covert operations group. For a covert organization, they were pretty open as to the fact of their existence.

"You have new hires. Odd." It wasn't a sneaky voice, like Ban's overactive imagination always tried to give agents in his daydreams, just a straightforward male voice. But then, these people were much more blatant than he was accustomed to.

"The Crown hired my last clerks out from underneath me." Carther didn't try to bleed the distaste from his voice. "How am I supposed to run a business like this?"

"Your concerns are noted. With multiple fronts active, we need the logistics, and we regret the inconvenience that it has caused to civilian interests. However, your new hires… how familiar are you with them? To trust them with this sort of work…?"

"Stop beating around the bush. Ask me what you want, and then go away. You'll scare my customers off."

The man sighed gustily. "That was what I wanted. So many refugees flooding Stormwind, you must understand they pose a certain security risk. Your two new hires are from a group I don't have much on… they share a certain accent and caution. I was hoping you had more information, since you've entrusted your business with them…. Who are they, Carther?"

"Young man is Banastre Russell. Young woman is Evelyn Whittaker." Ban could imagine Carter's tightened features, the trade between Gilneas and Kul'tiras had been quiet.

"Not very informative." Ban could catch a glimmer of a scent in the air, now he could pick this particular agent out of a crowd, and more importantly, out of a shadow. "Known them long, or deciding to take a leap of faith?"

"Known them for years. Their import house has been one of my business partners for over a decade. They're….Gilneans."

The agent's breathing paused. "Gilneas?" He pondered in wonder. "You've been doing business with…Gilneas? And now, there are Gilneans in Stormwind?"

"Rumors have been dark coming out of there for a year. Something catastrophic happened then…before all of this. People vanished. Businesses closed. The place grew…more somber. And for Gilneas, that's saying something. And now…with all that's going on….I think they can't hold on anymore. They're refugees the same as all the others."

"What happened?"

Carther burst out laughing. "Damned if I know, Joshua. Been business partners with this house for fifteen years, thought I knew them as well as any could, return to Gilneas only to get the turned back when I asked where they were. Their offices boarded up. Their cargo with us unclaimed. Their house empty. No answers, and the Gilneans are masters at avoiding questions they don't like. But this…this was beyond that. And then, those two turn up. The last I saw, the boy was a dandy, all precious and fine, as pretty as a girl. The girl was prim and proper, shy as a doe. A year later, and he's lean and hungry. She's hair triggered and steely eyed. I know put through hell when I see it. And I'm going to do what one does with Gilneans."

"Which is?"

A snort. "Let them volunteer whatever information they're willing to, when they're ready to. They're secretive, formal and xenophobic….and that was before all of this."

"Hhhhhhmmmm. Well, it could be worse." The agent mused, and Ban felt him move closer. He stepped beyond the corner, still trusting in his hearing rather than his sight.

"Oh?"

"They're humans. King Varian will handle that with a fair amount of grace. Cowards, but still…human. Good day, Carther, and thank you for the information."

Ban glared at the glass window next to him. Cowards. And freaks. How gracefully would this King Varian truly handle it?

A draenei male caught his attention, moving through the crowds on the narrow streets and he had to chuckle. Which was more foreign, that, or an average Gilnean cursed with the Affliction? Ban wasn't certain, but he guessed he was going to find out…eventually.

The agent had left the offices, and was heading in Ban's direction. Of course he was, good luck would have sent him in the other direction, and there was nowhere to subtly fade to. He squared his shoulders, stepped boldly out into the way, and strode right towards the man. Yes, that was the scent….and now, he'd recognize the face. "Morning." He greeted, and the man stared at him, obviously gaining his measure.

"Good morning." He returned, just a hair too late to be entirely polite, and Ban schooled his features into tranquility. He wasn't here to get into troubles with agents of the Crown… He paused, but the man gave no sign he was going to actually go after those answers he wanted, and Ban moved around him, vanishing around the corner and into Carther's offices.

That one was behind the counter, staring at the door, and he raised a brow when Ban stepped through. "Russell. Your timing is…" He stopped, obviously trying to decide exactly how to go forward, and Ban shrugged.

"I heard the agent." He let the man off of the hook, sitting at the counting desk, and opening the ledger to the last point he'd been at the day before. The beads were just as he'd left them, and he took a moment to recall where he'd been. "Every Crown has them." It had been a point of pride that he'd had little or none to do with Gilneas's, at least not that he was aware of. He could feel Carther's stare boring into the place where his neck met his shoulders, so many questions…. "They have a valid concern. So many refugees. So much chaos."

"Gilneans have an innate hatred for chaos."

"So we do. And chaos seems to have developed an affinity for Gilneans." He sat, resting his right fingertips on the beads, before glancing in Carther's direction. "What is it?"

"I can't lie to SI:7."

"We never asked you to. We're Gilneans. We're merchants. You've known me since I was seven. You were a business partner with my father, with Evelyn's father. This… cataclysm has driven us from Gilneas, as so many have been driven from their homes. No lies."

"No, no lies." He didn't seem at all mollified by Ban's words, as truthful as they were. "And you have no comprehension of why this disturbs me so, do you?"

"The truth is the truth." Ban muttered, and Carther sat at the desk next to him, the one that Evelyn had been using.

"Boy. I respected your father a great deal. He was a fine man. Honest. Intelligent. Proud of all three of you. The sort who took in Whittaker's daughter when that one decided to stupid his way out of living, and raised her like she was his own. He was a man I would have been very comfortable to have been friends with, had he let me. And then he vanished. I walked through Gilneas afterwards, and the very stones wept, Banastre. Your people are always dark, but that was beyond the commonplace. That was tragedy. Something utterly terrible happened… but they're all so damnably proud that they hid it. Buried it. Again. What happened, Banastre? To your father? Your brother? Or am I never to be trusted enough to know?"

Ban sighed, raked his fingers through his hair. "When Genn arrives, then we will tell. No sooner."

Carther sat back, his eyes planted firmly on Ban. "Genn Greymane is coming to Stormwind? I…see. And, I will keep that to myself."

"Thank you." Ban cultivated silence for a moment, staring at the beads until Carther gave up and went back to his counter. Only then did he let himself fall into the counting rhythm, barely noting when Evelyn sat next to him less than an hour later.

He was silent, walking her home later that evening, knowing she watched him out of the corner of her eye. "We're being followed." She subvocalized, and Ban took a deep breath. He was not at all surprised to pick the man's scent out of the air, moderately strong. He was close by…

"Yes."

"As long as you sense it."

He shrugged, resting a hand on her shoulder. He had, in an imprecise manner, sensed the man's proximity. Evelyn had picked the dread of his attention without Ban's heightened senses and previous identification of the man. Hair triggered, indeed. She was honed from hunting great wolves that all too often possessed a human's insight.

He held the door open for her, and shut it sharply against the man, feeling Evelyn's sudden sharp attention. It went from sharp attention to a quick move for a gun when Ban slid into worgen form, leaning his humped shoulder against the door, his ear right up against the thick wood. There was the oiled snick of hammers going back, and Evelyn stepped into the foyer, coaching arm leveled at the door above Ban's hunkered body.

They remained frozen for a long moment until the scent faded, and Ban relaxed, shifting back. "Who?" Evelyn demanded, tight lipped, and he chuckled.

"Agent of the Crown." He identified, and she cursed like a sailor, paint blistering profanity a stevedore would have been proud of. "Evelyn!" He gasped in fake outrage, and she merely glared at him.

"We're not supposed to have the attention of agents of the Crown."

"No way to avoid it. The more unsettled their streets become, the more watchful they're bound to be. The more refugees, the more people watching the refugees."

"You're right. How do you know who it is?"

"He questioned Carther. I…uh….happened to overhear…all….of the discussion."

"Your mother would be disappointed in you." Evelyn noted sarcastically, dropping the weapon off of level. Ban wrinkled a lip at her. His mother had tried for years to break him of the habit, and had never even come close to succeeding. And now, he came with the King's implicit blessings to indulge in such behavior.

"My mother would be disappointed in a great many things, Evelyn." He intoned seriously, and she gazed back at him. "Pretty much everything this year, up to and including this…" He waved his hand at the foyer and she chuckled.

"Oh, la! You and I living under the same roof, with no chaperone! How very scandalous!"

He grinned agreement. That was pretty much it in a nutshell. His mother would die of apoplexy if she had been around to see this…he felt the grin fade, and by the sudden downturn of Evelyn's expression, her thoughts were following the same pathway.

"I'm so sorry, Ban." She whispered. "I…forget…sometimes."

"So do I, Evie. It's like she'll come through a door at any minute." It hadn't been that obvious a feeling before, but the longer they stayed put, in an actual home, the more he felt it.

"Ban, have you given any thought…"

"No."

She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and vanished to replace the gun. Ban only sighed, shaking his head. No, he'd given absolutely no thought to the future. To where he or they went from here. It was one day after the other, one step ahead, the whole way.

"Ban?" She called from the parlor, and he stood, his eyes following where she would be if he could see her.

"Yes, Evelyn?" She had that tone. He recognized it, and it was never a good thing.

"That's just fine, as long as you remember one thing."

No, never a good thing. When Evelyn had that steel in her voice, whatever it was, she couldn't be moved from it. "And that would be?"

"I love you, and I will tolerate absolutely no stupidity from you!"

He chuckled, moving for the stairwell. "Yes, mother." He called after her, catching her answering snort loudly and clearly. "No stupidity. I promise." Somewhere along the way, over the past year, Bram's ghost had faded. Ban acknowledged it. She acknowledged it. He just wasn't quite certain that was where he wanted to go, even though there seemed to be no other pathway. If life was hard enough like this, how devastating would it be without her? She was the only thing that kept him out of the well of despair he sensed and shied away from.

"I'm sorry, Bram." He whispered. Bram was dead, gone a year now. They were all dead. It was time to let them lie, to pick up the pieces, and start trying to glue together a life again. Evelyn wasn't Bram's fiancée anymore…if she was anyone's, she was his.

Hardly a fine marriage prospect…

He chuckled, shook his head, and moved up the stairs to his quiet room. He was cursed, afflicted with a terrible disease that they had only managed to curb, blunt, but could not seem to tear from his soul… and that selfsame curse was now a mark of honor amongst his people. Shared by their king. Their general. Those who fought for Gilneas with tooth and nail. So many of their survivors afflicted.

Evelyn does not turn from you.

No. If anything, she seemed almost enamored with it. She shied from touching him in his human form, as was polite, but thought nothing of smoothing his coat, resting her palms against his sides, when he was in his worgen form. It was, he decided, a very strange world indeed. I am Banastre. I am a Gilnean. I am a worgen, and I am a member of Genn's pack.

He laughed, feeling Evelyn's interest pique downstairs, but he was already to his door.


	5. Chapter 5

Evelyn woke, and glanced around in confusion, sighing when she saw the leading edge of a rising full moon in her open windows. The worgen are running. Still, even here, it was enough to wake her out of a dead sleep. She listened, only partially soothed by the sounds of a living, vibrant city going about its business around her. She sat up, and growled to herself. It was unpleasantly warm, and she'd love a breeze, but there didn't seem to be one.

She listened, but the house was deeply silent… Ban was asleep. She moved to the door, pushing it open, to be greeted by an immediate cooler breeze. Ban's door hung wide open, the mastiff splayed on the floor before it. Ban was indeed asleep in the dim light thrown from the rising moon and Stormwind's lanterns, and Evelyn stood in his doorway, unabashedly measuring him. Although he was still in human form, she recognized from his deepening breathing that he would not stay that way for long. "Sleep well, Ban." She murmured, shaking her head. It was good…while it lasted. She was all too well aware, that when Genn came, that it wouldn't last. Ban was a member of the Royal pack. She was a Royal Huntsman. When the call to return to Gilneas came, they would be going. It was premature to try and figure out life with that hanging over their heads. It wasn't going to be easy under the best of circumstances; Ban had a bevy of good reasons to turn away from her now. It didn't matter that he shared the same misfortune of every other male she would consider acceptable, he'd try to argue his way out of it anyway. There was no way she'd consider one of these foreigners…they were rude, brash, and terribly loud. Only a Gilnean would do. And of those, the vast majority of the best were afflicted. She didn't need to find another, she had a perfectly fine, albeit afflicted, young Gilnean male.

"Wha', Evie?" He murmured thickly, she could sense he turned towards her.

"Go back to sleep. The moon rose."

"I know. I sense the others around here…that might be what has woken you. I think that's what you sense. Not the moon."

Evelyn sighed, shaking her head. He was the mage, and he was the worgen. He was supposed to grasp these things better than she did. "When did it start, Evelyn?" He finally asked, climbing from the bed and standing…a shadow moving towards her.

"What?"

"When did you start sensing us?"

When, indeed? Those days were a blur, returning to a devastated capital, an empty home. Bram's body brought home, torn limb from limb, found in the warehouse. Hannibal had also been found there; dead….he'd apparently fallen to his death. Knowing that Bram had been infected, and had gone down quickly, Evelyn could well understand just what had convinced the older man to climb onto the high crates. Ban's mother and aunt… she shuddered, that was a mess she had been vaguely told about. It had been insanity to garb herself in Ban's clothing, pick up his weapons, and go after him, but she had reason to believe he was out there. "I was told there were worgen in the Blackwald." She finally admitted, and he froze. "I went there looking for you." Of course, Ban had not run for the Blackwald, she now understood he had run straight for the desolation of the Northern Headlands of Gilneas. Even he, as a worgen, had not been foolish enough to pass into the Blackwald. But she had. "I found a place… a quiet place. With these great stones, mostly in a circle. Some had holes carved in them. Some didn't. I just felt then like I needed to say what I was doing, what I wanted. To make it valid. I swore then, there, that I was looking to find you. And to stop those who were maddened by the affliction. Those who were terrorizing Gilneas. Killing stock. Killing people."

He was very close, she could feel his frown. "You went into the Blackwald, close to Tal'doren, and swore yourself as a warden of Gilneas's worgen? At one of Goldrinn's holy sites. I understand."

She glared, put that way, it became obvious. But then, Ban had always been good at putting things in ways that made so much sense that she felt stupid for not seeing them as he did. The Crown had been happy to name her as a huntsman under Royal orders, and that had been enough for her, the whole how and why was too ephemeral.

"So there are others."

His head turned towards the open window, and he shifted forms, snorting loudly. "Yes." He grumbled. "Three close by. A handful more in the City. Less than a dozen, all told."

"Hmmmm. Not much of a presence." Less than a dozen afflicted. Maybe a few more like her, who weren't. But their numbers were divided between Crowley's forces keeping pressure on the Forsaken in the north of Gilneas, and the refugees and pack that had left Gilneas with Genn.

"A dozen of the afflicted can create a great deal of chaos." He chuckled, "Even if the cure and such has rendered us unable to spread the curse."

She glanced warily at him. "Does that…bother you? You almost sound as if you regret it." It was an idea she had never considered. It had been such a relief to realize that their ability to spread the affliction had been destroyed with the cure, that it had never dawned on her that might be considered a loss to any of them. Did the idea of turning her ever cross his mind? Did he ever regret that she had come through the Night of Affliction untouched? That the only worgen to get teeth on her had actually been him…after he'd been neutralized.

"I turned Crowley. The world trembles before me, through him." Ban stated regally, and she grinned in answer. "I don't want to visit this upon anyone else, Evelyn. I am very happy to understand I cannot infect you or others around me anymore. If there's someone out there who gets me coming at them with teeth and claws, then they just deserve to die, and be gone. Why in the world would I want to curse someone I loved, and why in the world would I want to make someone I hated more capable to hurt me?"

"I…don't know." Put that way, it made no sense. Bram had been maddened when he'd afflicted Ban. Even then, Ban had come out on top… He'd survived Bram's attack. Survived the Change. Survived Crowley's shot. Survived running feral for months. And then survived the fall of Gilneas.

"This may indeed be the salvation of Gilneas, Evelyn. But the cost has been too damned high." He turned away from her, climbing back into bed. She nodded in silent agreement, knowing he felt it anyway.

"'Night, Ban."


	6. Chapter 6

Ban moved through Stormwind's streets, more comfortable than he'd been in a long time. It wasn't Gilneas, but now he knew where to buy breakfast, which ways took him where he wanted to go with a minimum of fuss, and a general sense of wellbeing. It was late, Evelyn was going to be annoyed, but he'd gotten caught up in the ledgers for Carther's newest cargoes, when the wind changed.

He froze; twitching his nose… he'd recognize the acrid, musky, almost citrusy walnut smell of a male worgen in duress. And above it, lighter, the smell of a female worgen, also in distress. "Damnation." He muttered, following it. With only a dozen of them in Stormwind, under orders to remain undercover, trouble was nothing he wanted.

It took only a second to partially grasp the situation…three large men, not the worgen under duress… They had a hold of the female, who was still holding to her human form in spite of it. The male was a stripling lad, shorter than even Ban's none too great adult height, but the madness of the Night of Affliction hadn't skipped the young.

"What's going on here?" He belled out a challenge, his accent unmistakable to the two who would recognize it. Of course, they'd probably recognize his scent, but…

"None of your business." The man farthest away from Ban, and the youth, grumbled. "Go away. Damn squatters."

"Let the girl go and I'll be happy to go away…with her." The boy gave him a grateful, but still wary look. Ban was not the most impressive adult male who could have shown up, the largest of these men approached his size…in his worgen form.

"Aye," the girl agreed. "Jes' let this one go…please?"

"Aye." The boy piped up, still keeping a cautious eye on Ban, and he felt a sudden realization. Neither one of these….children….would be in Genn's pack. Neither one of them would have been sent here, as he and Evelyn had been. These two were honestly refugees. Their accents placed them as northerners, from an area close to the Wall, close to the Headlands he had haunted, far from the capital.

The large man, still holding the girl with her back against his chest, his arm around her neck, gave Ban a completely unthreatened stare over her shoulder. "Make me."

Of course it had to be difficult. Nothing was ever easy. He glanced at the boy, giving him an infinitesimal negative shake of his head when the boy started to lean over. No, no change. He had to be able to handle this without that… he frowned. He had not cast in human form since the Change. He wasn't even certain he could, but there was no getting away from this. Either he handled it, or the pair of pups would…

He moved into casting, focusing on keeping his human form and still managing to get the spell off correctly. The large man let go of an extremely ovine bleat, and vanished behind the girl's skirts. The two other men froze in place, and the boy let out a mocking and jubilant cry. "Come on." Ban told the girl, who nodded, scurrying to his side. "We'll just…walk away now."

That had been his plan. It was a good plan, much more intelligent and circumspect than most of his plans. But when he grasped the girl's wrist, made certain the boy was coming, and spun, he walked right into a mountain of gleaming, shining metalwork wrapped around a man.

"What goes here?" It inquired mildly, and Ban bit back a curse.

"Nothin'." The boy spewed out immediately, and Ban wished he could kick him. Nothing sounded more like a lie, and reeked of no good, than that pathetic attempt at an answer.

"Nothing at all, good lord." Ban attempted to cover up the sulky and suspicious tone that the boy had used with a genial good cheer. While he was a much better liar than the boy, the man barring the way looked less than convinced. "A minor disagreement, that's all. No blows…"

"Right. No blows." The man who had been against the southern wall agreed, and he was as fine a liar as Banastre. His attempt to hide the large Gilnean black faced sheep that his partner had become was a little less fine. The other man was obviously the stupid one in the lot; he just stared in startled silence.

"Hmmm. A mage, a girl with her clothes mussed, a stripling lad, a sheep, a dolt and a liar, all trying to convince me nothing is up… Try again."

"They wanted me ta work fer 'em." The girl muttered, rubbing her wrist. "Didn' like no fer an answer. Tha's my brother." She pointed at the boy with her chin. "Him, I don' know. He jes' showed up." The chin angled in Ban's direction. "He was no part of the start of it. He jes' tried to stop it."

The man in the honest to goodness suit of armor stared at the aimlessly wandering sheep for a moment before nodding. "These alleys are not safe after dark. Where are you lot staying?" Somehow, Ban was included in 'you lot', judging by the fall of the man's gaze.

"I have a house on High Street." He admitted when the gaze sharpened into a stare.

"An' we got a room in a common house on the docks." The girl frowned, and stepped closer to Banastre when the polymorph broke and the sheep resumed its normal human form. "Don' want no trouble."

"No trouble." Ban agreed. Hopefully the behemoth in the armor agreed… The last thing he needed to deal with tonight was the City Constable.

"You're the mage in the lot." The armored man removed his helm, and stared at Ban out of steady blue eyes.

"Er…." This wasn't Gilneas. All he really had to go on were rumors, and those were too often false. Certainly, Ban's lack of formal training had caused some concern, at least until everything fell apart, and then it hadn't mattered. This place was supposed to have access to the Kirin Tor, an organization of mages that Ban barely knew about. He hadn't been counted nearly good enough to belong to Gilneas's Royal College of Mages, he'd been asked to leave training early on and no one seemed to find that more than enough back at home. "Occasionally, when the situation warrants… I'm not a very imposing sort, like you, good sir…" Maybe it was time for a little obsequiousness… No, he recognized that look; it was the same too many adults got when he tried that. "Yes, fine, I have some magery."

"Kirin Tor?"

The girl was steadily sidling away towards her brother, now that the man's focus was firmly attached on Ban. It was a fruitless gesture, the red headed mountain turned his jaw to regard her, and she slunk back to Ban's side.

"Noooo."

"No. No training whatsoever?" Doubt painted the man's tone and he flicked his eyes towards the very quiet erstwhile sheep doing his best to be ignored.

"Ah… some." The man arched a brow, and Ban shrugged. "The Gilneas Royal College of Mages…?"

"Gilneas." It was amazing how that name managed to sound like so much of an indictment and yet a marvel when spoken aloud here. "You, and these children, are Gilnean refugees?"

"Yes. The Wall has been breached. These earthquakes…" The stripling lad, the girl's brother, almost said something but fell into silence when she glared at him. "And the Forsaken, waiting on the other side."

"Oh. Of course, such close proximity to their lands…" The armored mountain nodded. "And your name?" He measured Ban calmly.

"Banastre Russell. I'm a merchant." When the man's eyes fell on the young ones, Ban could only shrug. "I do not know them."

"Nah." The boy agreed. "Don' know mister fancy pants here. He stinks of city. Capital. Thanks, though."

Ban nodded, but the knight…for it couldn't be anything else…seemed less than convinced. "And you have a home on High Street."

"Yes."

"An honest area. But these young ones…" Those blue, blue eyes fell on the three silent men crowding the opposite end of the alley. "Need care. Stormwind is a crowded place, and getting rougher by the day. A place for trouble these days. Come."

The girl looked dubiously at Ban, who stared at the knight. "Who are you, then?" He demanded, and the knight nodded pleasantly.

"Good. Good. My name is Silas. I serve the King, and the Argent Crusade. I am a paladin; I will see the young ones cared for."

Ban had no idea what half the introduction meant, but the man felt revoltingly trustworthy. He was exactly the sort that Ban would have avoided in Gilneas, but he had given those days up. How he could he be a drunkard, when he was afraid to drink? And what had been fun, once, now felt like it would be foolish and empty. He'd stared into the darkness, and had finally grown up for it. He'd prayed for a chance to sit by the fire with Evelyn, and that prayer had been answered. Well…not the fire part, but… "You'll be fine." He assured the girl when she sent him another cautious stare.

"You are free to go, mage." The man waved, already turning towards the three…and Ban was more than happy to stride away…quickly.


	7. Chapter 7

He was spread out on the bed, asleep, when he felt Evelyn come into the room. He opened his eyes to fairly bright light; it was later than he'd thought. "Overslept, sorry." He muttered, covering his eyes with his forearm. "Be right down." On the days he worked, he usually got breakfast on the streets, but they both had today off, which meant Evelyn would cook…

"Make sure you do it in clothes." She stated, and he peered at her from under his arm. "You've visitors."

"Visitors?" If it was Carther, she would have said so.

"Yes. Some man in a damn fool set of shining armor…and a man in a purple dress. I'm not quite certain which of them looks the bigger fool."

That sounded…dire. Ban nodded, and carefully dressed before coming downstairs. Surely enough, there was the man he'd met earlier… Silas, and an earnest faced older man in a purple dress. Stormwind was certainly full of the bizarre; Ban would have to give it that.

"Good morning." He offered slowly, warily. Evelyn had taken up a strategic position in the doorway to the kitchen, the mastiff glowering around her skirts.

"Ah!" The man in the dress breathed enthusiastically, hopping up from the chair Evelyn had given him. Silas leaned against the wall, silent. "You are the Gilnean mage? Banastre?"

"I….am." And I wish I wasn't. Evelyn was cultivating that stare, and he did his best to not look at her.

The man's eyes widened, as if he was expecting another answer. He looked at the paladin, who only shrugged in answer. "That is what he claimed last night, Voreph. Mage, from Gilneas. Everything I saw backed up the mage part, the Gilnean part I am not so certain of. Although we have many refugees, and what little of the story I got from him last night makes too much sense to truly doubt it."

"Gilneans…out of Gilneas! Here, in Stormwind. And they practice the arcane arts! Fascinating, utterly fascinating! Where were you trained, again?"

Evelyn smirked, and he sighed. "The Royal College of Mages." He muttered, glaring at her. "I do not see the point of this…"

"Well, firstly…" The knight began slowly, "I wanted to let you know the young ones are fine. When I made my report, it attracted his attention…" He motioned at the man with him. "And he simply had to meet the Gilnean mage."

Voreph nodded, either ignoring the paladin's droll tone, or he simply hadn't noted it…Ban wasn't sure which it was. "So Gilneas has a college of magic?"

"Had. Evelyn…" If she was going to lurk in the doorway and listen, then she could at least make herself useful. It was her house, she was his hostess.

"Right, right away, Ban." She responded, moving back into the kitchen to bring tea. The mastiff stood, torn between staring ominously at the strangers under its roof, and following her. It finally settled on following, and slunk away after her.

"Had." The paladin considered the word, his eyes glancing towards where Evelyn had vanished from. "You mentioned the Forsaken last night. And now, you tell me that a college of magics, untouched by the Horde wars, lies before them? When did the Wall fall? And is there any resistance remaining in Gilneas? My superiors are somewhat concerned by this turn of events…"

Ban hissed, fairly certain that these were the questions that Genn was supposed to answer when he arrived. Whenever that was supposed to be… His first task for the pack, for the Crown, and he was failing at every turn… But his way was also to smooth the way over to asking for assistance, and this seemed as fine a time as any.

"We have a strong resistance in place, to harry the Forsaken until…"

The paladin waved a hand at the mage to silence him when it was obvious the man wanted to pop back into the discussion. "Go on." The paladin breathed when Ban paused. "Until?"

"Until Genn can arrive here and appeal for relief from your King in person." Evelyn appeared with the tea, and had to have overheard him, but her expression remained placid as she served.

"I see. Greymane survives, and you expect him here in Stormwind soon. Good. Where is your main evacuation point? It's not here; you barely have any citizenry in Stormwind. I assume you are here as a vanguard, to check the lie of the land before your King arrives. Prudent. But your people…Gilneas's actual population is where? Do they require security? Support?"

"Our people are on Teldrassil."

Somehow, that was a suspicious response, judging by the glance between the paladin and the mage. Ban hated playing this game with only a small portion of the cards in his hand, but there was no other option. "The night elves have taken in the main portion of your refugees?"

"Yes." Somehow, that was what they doubted. "They were instrumental in the evacuation of Gilneas. They provided troops, and transportation. Is there a problem? I was led to believe that Stormwind was allied with them?" There were subtleties at play here, and he didn't have nearly enough information for this.

"We are." The paladin agreed easily enough, and Ban breathed a small sigh of relief. "They just aren't known for their willingness to get involved and extend themselves for humans. It would have been more in keeping with their past behaviors to have informed us that Gilneas was under duress when they became aware of it."

Because we aren't entirely human anymore. Ban only shrugged. And now, those who had fallen to the affliction seemed easily blessed in the druidic arts that the night elves had such regard for. They had examined Banastre at Teldrassil, only to ascertain that no, his link to his arcane soul remained undamaged. He would be no druid, he lacked that…blurred out by his previous calling.

"No. They were on the ground in Gilneas during the Fall." He would give them the credit they were due. "Their ships carried out the evacuation. Their troops made the evacuation possible."

"Fascinating." The mage muttered, and the paladin nodded in agreement. "The Kal'dorei are directly allied with the Gilneans? An occurrence we never would have seen coming…"

"And yet, the Kal'dorei have said nothing." The paladin pondered it for a long moment. "You would have thought that a Horde incursion anywhere would have been brought to us. A Horde incursion against a human kingdom, even Gilneas, and the Kal'dorei respond to it in force, while leaving Stormwind out of the process. I must admit I don't understand." He accepted a teacup from Evelyn, easily in spite of his gauntlets, and took a fairly well mannered sip out of it. "But, if this is true, then the majority of Gilneas's surviving population is safe on Teldrassil."

Ban nodded agreement when the man's blue eyes fell on him. That was indeed the truth, and he was willing to say so.

"And you mention a concerted resistance…"

"Crowley leads the resistance. A couple of thousand Gilneans under arms…" A couple of thousand of the finest Afflicted they had, led by Crowley, charged with carnage. It sounded like a joy, but Ban was kept here.

"Crowley. Darius Crowley? The lord who sent the forces to us during the Scourging? Lord of Pyrewood and Ambermill?"

Ban grimaced, and nodded. That would indeed be the man in question. "Yes. Him."

"I see. And you tell me that Greymane himself is headed for Stormwind? Well, then, I guess my questions are answered until your king arrives to answer the remainder himself." Ban nodded, and the paladin glanced down at the mage. "Fine, Voreph. Go."

The mage gave him a sulky look before grinning at Ban. "We wanted to put forward an offer for you to come to the Sanctum. We can see where you are in your training, offer you access to a library, you are very young, I see… a chance to continue on the path. The Kirin Tor is open to all mages, regardless of their more mundane loyalties."

And cursed states of being? Ban shrugged noncommittally. He wasn't pleased to be the only mage that Genn had sent forward here, and now, to have been outed as both a Gilnean and a mage was bothersome. Unfortunately, Genn's desire in this had been clearly stated…nothing would make the man happier than to see Banastre accepted into an organization like the Kirin Tor. And he could feel Evelyn's focused attention on the conversation, now that she was depending on his combat abilities as much as he depended on hers, she would push for him to become a better mage. More capable to liberate Gilneas. To take another step towards that adulthood he spurned.

"Very well." He sighed, settling his pride down. This was going to be an embarrassment of epic levels, but he didn't see a graceful way out of it.


	8. Chapter 8

The three men sat a table, deep in the silence of Stormwind Keep. "Voreph?" Silas finally broke the silence, and the mage gave him a calm look completely at odds from the enthusiastic, bubbling façade he'd given the young Gilnean earlier. "Well?"

"He's a mage. No doubts. Mostly self taught, his basics are extremely sporadic, but I'm sure he can fight his way out of a corner. His combat magery is excellent, but his basic levels are nonexistent. He can polymorph, and lay down a lot of hurt, but can't even conjure the most basic of foods. He's a mage who's learned pretty much everything in the field, under duress. It fits with the refugee story. What doesn't please us is whatever has been done to him…magically. It's such a bundle of effects, we're not even sure where to start, and since most of it appears to be druidic in nature, we're not sure if we should. The Kal'dorei have mucked with him, Silas. Why, I don't know, but that is high level elven druid crap bound to him."

"I don't understand why the Kal'dorei are even involved." The second man sighed, shaking his head. "Their silence in regards to this is, as usual, completely overwhelming. They confirm that they have rendered an evacuation of the population of Gilneas, a human held kingdom, to Teldrassil. They confirm that they rendered military aid to allow this evacuation. What they don't answer is the obvious why. And that's the answer SI:7 wants. What I am absolutely certain of is that Russell and his female companion are the children of merchants, and they are Gilneans. They don't make the best sense to be what they appear to be."

"Genn's eyes on the ground before he arrives." Silas pondered the tabletop. "A small, fast talking mage with merchant ties to Kul'tiras. And a woman who serves tea while armed to the teeth, with a hunter's pet staring the table down. I could think of less likely, Joshua. A mage and a hunter make fine sense to me. Just because neither one is a rogue doesn't mean they're completely incompetent to find information. My concerns are obvious."

"Gilneas." Voreph sighed, mindlessly folding a scrap of paper. "The Wall breached by the Cataclysm, her population under attack by the Forsaken, and forced from their…uh….sanctuary. An unknown, back in play."

"They're cowards. Genn only halfheartedly supported the Alliance during the War, and turned his back on us at the earliest possible moment…which happened to be when we needed Gilneas the most. And, according to Russell, he's still king. I don't like it." He glanced at the origami giraffe that Voreph had teased from the scrap of paper, but gave it not even the hint of a smile. "And the night elves suddenly, out of the blue, back a full scale support and evacuation of them? Why? I wasn't aware Gilneas had contact with anyone, much less Darnassus."

"Gilneas has maintained trade with Kul'tiras. That we knew. Their ships have also been seen in Booty Bay and Ratchet, rarely. We've had no hints of any Gilnean vessels in any of the northern Kalimdor ports to have contact with Teldrassil. It does certainly appear that their sudden support of Gilneas came, as you put it, completely out of the blue, blue sky. But, Silas, you're the paladin, do they feel up to no good?"

Silas sighed, flicking the giraffe off of the table. "The boy feels dangerous. The girl is a killer, but I can place that. She serves tea with a shy smile, while hiding at least three weapons under her clothes. But the boy… There's something else going on there." There was silence at the table, waiting, and he finally shrugged. "The closest I've known is dealing with dragons when they aren't in draconic form. They feel the same way. This is what you see, but it's not what you get."

"Hmmmm." Joshua leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Well, the Gilnean presence here in Stormwind is still very small. We keep an eye on it, and we let the Gilnean king, and the Kal'dorei, if they're still involved, place their case before Varian."

"He should at least be informed that Genn is coming, that Gilneas has fallen, and that the Kal'dorei are involved." Silas murmured, ignoring Voreph's flow of expressions. "No. We are not going into Gilneas, Voreph. Not until we're told to."

"But, they had libraries…a College… a capital, which remained untouched through the last war… Which will now fall to the Horde!"

"I have to agree with Silas." Joshua affirmed. "We don't know what's going on in Gilneas. We don't know why the elves are involved. Until we do…."

"We keep an eye on Russell, and his heavily armed female companion."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because inquiring minds want to know! Banastre is an actual name, and the correct pronunciation is "Bannister", like the railings of a staircase. Being British, in American common usage, with the e before the final r, it would be spelled Banaster. Hence the pronunciation.

There was a ship at dock, and Ban studied it. It was undeniably Kal'dorei in construction, a long sloop with the usual purple and blue sails, but flying beneath its usual flag, was one that Ban could have identified when he was two. Gilneas's flag, edged with a yellow border. Genn. Genn was here. Finally. And that ship smelled strongly of worgen, many of the Royal pack was onboard.

"Morning, Russell." The man seemed to just be lolling around on the deck, but he measured every passerby a long moment, and by the sniffling and snorting, seemed to have come down with a rather vicious sinus condition while at sea. Ban knew better, of course. He was catching the scent of every being that passed by.

"Morning." Ban accepted the wave to come onboard and hopped the short distance to the decking. "Grand to see you, finally."

"Genn wouldn't leave Teldrassil until our civilians were settled. Took longer than we'd expected. So, this is Stormwind…" The man glanced up and shrugged. "Not quite what I was expecting. Hotter than hell, and it really doesn't look like it's much better off than Gilneas."

Ban shrugged, feeling Genn come up from below decks to listen. "I wouldn't quite go that far." He acknowledged the king with the barest nod, the last thing he wanted was to mark the man for Stormwind's agents. "They still have control of it. It came out on the bottom of a passing dragon attack."

"Dragon attack?" Genn asked dubiously, motioning for Ban to follow him below decks. It was claustrophobic and hot, but Ban complied. "The aspect the elves talk of? Neltharion? The one who brought down the Wall?"

"Yes." Ban took a seat at the briefing table only after the master of the pack did.

"But they still stand. Who is their king?"

"Varian, son of Llane." If Ban understood history, it should be same Varian that had been King of Stormwind when Genn had closed the Wall, but it still was cautious to be certain as to it. Royal lines tended to pass the same names down often…

Genn nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing his features. "So the House of Wrynn still stands. Welcome news indeed."

Ban shrugged, noncommittally, and the king measured the response. "Yes, yes. The Wrynn are often hot tempered. I'm guessing by that answer, that Varian is true to the line?"

"Yes. Harsh times breed harsh kings." Much as Ban tried to avoid Genn's eyes at the words, it was impossible. He froze, waiting for outrage, but Genn only nodded in acceptance.

"They do indeed, Master Russell. You count me amongst them, and I face that truth. Your news?"

"Certain aspects of Stormwind's authorities are aware that Gilneas's isolation has been broken. It's been difficult for me to pin down who and how these are authorities, but I sense that they are." Genn leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips and studying Ban silently over the tops of them. "One, as much as I tried to avoid them…. The Crown's undercover agents."

Genn only chuckled, nodding, and waving Ban on when he paused.

"They also have some of sort of monastic military order at play. Warrior priests… called paladins…?"

A curt nod from Genn, he'd heard the term while it was an unknown to Ban. "They were in their infancy in my last reports from Lordaeron." The pack master finally breathed, "At the point where they would either bloom or die. I gather that they bloomed. Given those who backed them, I am not surprised."

"And the Kirin Tor."

"A group I happen to believe you are suited for…?"

Ban shrugged again. Admitting to his lack of formal training was a growing embarrassment. "I am ill suited for a classroom." He finally admitted when Genn's stare grew heavy. "I was released from our own College of Mages…."

Disappointment crossed Genn's expression, and Ban fought back a whimper. "Master Russell." Genn breathed slowly. "You stood shoulder to shoulder with our best at our darkest time. You are a mage, of that, I have no doubts. A damnably fine one. But you are the one who needs to see that more than the rest of the pack does. Yes, during your youth, you were asked to leave the College. That was then. This is now. I have precious few mages who survived, and I count you amongst my best. If the Kirin Tor will teach you, then I would expect you to take them up on the offer. You will be a mage your entire life, the Kal'dorei said there will be no other calling for you. If you continue like this, you will be an incredibly gifted mage too proud to become great. And the pack will mourn that loss."

Ban bowed his head, thoroughly scolded. It sounded so bloody easy coming from other people like that. "So." Genn continued. "These groups have identified you as Gilnean."

If it was possible, Ban wilted farther, and Genn bellowed a laugh in response. "If I had wanted you to pass as something else, I would not have sent two children of an upper crust merchanting family, Banastre. What problems do you see?"

"We are viewed as cowards." Ban sighed, and Genn's face set. "We hid behind our Wall while Lordaeron was brought to her knees. It's a great comeuppance that our Wall has fallen, we deserved it. The only thing that has brought any sort of another response is that the Forsaken may benefit from the knowledge held in Gilneas."

"So we have something. They aren't concerned about us, but what we kept safe behind our Wall."

"Yes."

"So be it. I don't need their respect, I need their aid." The man frowned, and Ban sighed. Genn wasn't a young one anymore, and now he looked worn. Losing Liam, losing Gilneas, all too much to swallow. "You look better than I would have thought. Not quite the Banastre you were, but somewhat closer…"

"It's too bloody hot here to dress correctly." Ban accepted the change of topic gracefully, shrugging. "But I've done the best I can. I do have a rather impertinent question, however."

It was an idea that had taken seed earlier, and continued to sprout. He wasn't certain just how his father would have taken it; he could see Hannibal going either way, with equally firm arguments on both sides. Genn raised a brow, leaning back in his chair and motioning him to continue.

"We had a lot of interests in Boralus. Kul'tiras has weathered this… cataclysm… better than most, so my house's interests have done well. Does the crown need backing…?"

"Of a financial nature?" Genn finished, and Ban fought a sudden flush. Who was he to even infer that the Gilnean King needed his gold? "Russell and Whittaker is offering to back the return to Gilneas?"

"Yes."

"It is an offer I will take under advisement, Master Russell. I would most certainly rather accept the backing of an honest Gilnean merchant house than those lice of the goblin cartels. And, more proudly accept it than from the coffers of Stormwind. It puts us on steadier footing with King Wrynn if we can help finance this ourselves. I had not considered our dealings with Kul'tiras as an option, thank you for reminding me."

"Of course."

"And how is Miss Whittaker?"

"Well."

Genn's glance was measuring. "Well. The two of you are…?"

"Still well." It was refreshing to have a conversation that abided by the subtle rules that Ban excelled at, graceful, polite, touching on points and gaining their answer without brutally beating one over the head with it. Evelyn was fine. And they were still getting along well, in just the ways that Genn inquired about.

"Ah, well, you know… Tess…"

Ban rubbed his nose, shaking his head. No, absolutely not. He was discomfited enough with things as they were, Evelyn was one of the few things he was actually comfortable with. Financially support the Crown, certainly. Hannibal would have preferred the opposite, being financially supported by the Crown, but these were unhinged times. Even fight for Gilneas, with tooth, claw and arcane spells, that made sense. But a hint that involved the crown princess, absolutely not. "Varian Wrynn has a son of marriageable age."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"Definitely interesting. And you are correct; you and Miss Whittaker belong together. With the pack's blessings, Banastre… She was engaged to your brother?"

"She was. He's gone a year now." Even in settled times, a year would have been an appropriate time to mourn Bram's loss.

"It has been that long." Genn breathed, his gaze going to the porthole. "So you have made contact with your partners and the Kirin Tor. Good. Where are you staying?"

"Evelyn and I have a house near the Keep. On the other side of the city from the docks. What do you want from me?"

"Keep doing what you're doing. And accept teaching and aid from the Kirin Tor. We need that, Banastre. And I will need you tonight when I attempt to meet King Varian…"


	10. Chapter 10

"What in the hell, Ban?" Evelyn hadn't seen him dress like this in ages; it was as close to Gilnean gentleman as he could manage here, right down to the gold chain of his pocket watch crossing over the shining buttons of his intricately embroidered waist coat.

"Genn's ship is at dock. I need to talk to you." He had the embarrassed inflection that said he'd done something foolish, that he should have talked to her about earlier, but hadn't.

Well, the first sentence at least explained why he was dressed. She pursed her lips, and straightened the flow of his cravat. "What have you gone and done now, Ban?"

He looked appropriately scolded, and she sighed. "I…offered the Crown money." He admitted miserably, and she paused. "Ours. I should have spoken to you first, but…"

She turned from him, taking the box that contained what they had brought out of Gilneas from her dresser, and opening it, settling on a golden stock pin and easily pinning his cravat into submission. "We rise and fall with Gilneas, Ban. If we have money to offer the Crown, then we offer it up at the earliest possible moment. I would not deny Crowley, Lorna, provisions, weapons, to continue their stand for Gilneas. I would have been embarrassed had you not done so."

He considered her words, finally reaching out to graze his fingertips against her cheek, winding his fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. She waited, and the moment seemed to last forever before he leaned forward and kissed her. She had waited so long for this; this had been the scene in the back of her mind when Bram had cautiously and awkwardly kissed her after she'd accepted his suit. Not going to think about that… Not now… Ban deserved better. His touch was heady, the hand in her hair was gentle, but the one he placed on her lower back was steel. This was no awkward, clumsy attempt, a graceless peck on her lips… once he had allowed himself to touch her, he knew what he was doing.

"Love you, Evie." He hissed against her lips, and she chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him.

"You're going to muss those lovely clothes, Ban." She whispered, and he growled, a cascade of definitely canine notes at such odds with his appearance. "Fine, fine. I do so love you, Banastre Russell."

"Get dressed. We attend the King." He took a step back, his color still high, and she curtseyed, before moving off to her room, closing the door with a sharp snick behind her. She was so caught up in the moment, resting a cautious fingertip against the lips that still felt like his that she yelped when he knocked at the door.

"No, Ban! I'm not decent!" As if she'd had time to remove anything, whatsoever…. He was much cleverer than that…..

"You'll want the jewelry." He noted through the door, and she blushed, opening the door and snatching the box from his grasp. He was correct, to stand beside him, as he was, she'd need the box. And the lovely dress he'd purchased as well. We attend the King. She grinned, dressing quickly. It was bound to get ugly, they had too much of a tainted past, but she was in too fine a mood to consider that just then. Ban had touched her. Ban had kissed her. He wasn't so far gone that she was going to have to gently tease him out of a morbidly despairing funk. There had been no "I'm cursed, don't touch me! Don't trust me!" in his response. Life could go on.

She almost reached for a weapon, instinctively, but reconsidered, leaving it on the table. It could be misconstrued, and she went on Ban's arm. He was a weapon all by himself.

Ban waited on the dock, nervously fiddling with the chain of his watch. It was now completely an affectation, it was the same watch he'd been wearing the night Bram had attacked him, and it had been shattered at that point. The outer case still was gold, valuable, but the crystal and workings were destroyed. It still proclaimed the time to be 1:27, and Ban could do the figuring. It had been almost one that morning when he'd woken Evelyn and left the house to look for Bram.

Fifteen or so minutes to get to the warehouse, walking, from the house. Another few to get as far into the warehouse as he had…and then…Bram coming at him. His watch was perpetually stopped at the moment he had ceased to be entirely human.

"None of that, Ban." Evelyn had an eerie ability to know exactly when his thoughts turned. She reached out and firmly grasped the hand he held the watch in, taking it from his fingers and sliding it back into its pocket. "You keep it, for what it is, but don't use it to linger on the past."

Genn appeared on the deck of the sloop beside them, and Ban bowed, catching Evelyn's curtsey out of the corner of his eye. It had been fairly easy to consider Genn as the master of the pack when it was a quiet discussion below decks, but now, the King wore finery and had a shadowing of four guards in Gilnean livery.

"Master Russell." His steady eyes fell over Ban, and carried on to Evelyn. "And the lovely Miss Whittaker. Thank you for coming. This could get…ugly."

"Then you'll want us at your back while we fight our way back here." Evelyn stated intractably, and Genn laughed outright.

"You've no weapon, Miss Whittaker…"

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "I'm certain Ban could get me one from any Stormwind guard willing to give theirs up for the Gilnean cause. He's my weapon of first contact."

"She is most certainly a keeper, Master Russell." Genn agreed, stepping onto the docks. Ban moved behind him, flanked by the guards, Evelyn at his side, one half step behind him.

They moved in relative silence through the streets of Stormwind, undisturbed until they made their way to the Keep. Ban was less than surprised to see the paladin, Silas, high on the apron of steps leading in. If possible, the man was even more heavily armored, and more obviously imposing, than he had been when Ban had first run across him. His stare was blatantly measuring, locked on the aging Genn, the honor guard in Gilneas's colors, and finally Ban and Evelyn.

"I assume, Russell, that this is Greymane, as you promised?"

Ban did not like the sound of that, at all. If taken the wrong way, it almost sounded as if he had agreed to give up Genn… "Promised?" He repeated, the edge of a wary challenge rising in his voice. "The only promise I gave you was that the King came here in person to make his case to Varian Wrynn… The honorable and correct way to handle this?" The last thing he wanted was to be cut down here, by Genn's guards, on suspicion of treachery… in front of Evelyn… He felt nauseous, and his heart began to race.

No. I will not change. No. He closed his mind to the cacophony of panic rising in his soul. I have control of this. There was the itch of hair in the first place it grew, low on his back, and he clenched his eyes shut. No.

Evelyn wound her fingers through his tightly clenched ones, resting the palm of her other one against the cheek farthest away from her. "Banastre." She breathed, turning towards him.

"I am Genn Greymane, king of Gilneas…as promised." Genn boomed, stepping forwards. "And I am here for an audience with Varian Wrynn, who will have been informed that my personnel have promised my imminent arrival?"

The paladin loosed a grudging smile. "Of course he has been informed. His orders are to give you the earliest possible audience when you arrived… which was four hours ago. So yes, we have been waiting for you."

"Good. How long will you have us wait in return?"

The paladin craned his neck, his gaze thoughtful. "Varian awaits you, now, King Genn. If you will follow me."

Ban fell into step, again behind Genn, Evelyn taking her place as well. Silas strode in focused silence, down a long, high vaulted hallway, interspersed with guards. It opened into a great room, dominated by what could only be a throne, flanked by golden lions, with a man seated there.

Evelyn's step faltered beside him, and he grasped her sudden dismay all too well… all of their lives, there had been only one king, who been aged by the time they had became cognizant. The idea that there was someone more imposing than Genn Greymane was an unwelcome realization. It was even more unwelcome when Varian stood, and Ban comprehended just how large the man actually was. Even mentally subtracting the heavy armor that the man wore did little to bring him down in size. He was scarred; two heavy marks crossed his face, and the glower he wore did not ease Ban's heart. Crowley was the only Gilnean that Ban knew who could come close to this aura, and Crowley was far, far away.

"Genn Greymane?"

"I am Genn, King of Gilneas." Genn stated calmly, striding forward. "It has been a long time, Varian."

"It has indeed been a long time since Gilneas chose to hide behind their Wall, Greymane. And now, the Wall has fallen, I am told?"

Breathe. Be calm. This is not the time, this is not the place. Ban could smell the distress of Genn's guards rising, but also felt their iron resolve following his own. They were not animals.

"It has fallen, Varian."

Wrynn nodded, taking a seat on his throne again. He nodded as an aside to the closest of his guard, and the man moved away. "Who are those with you?" He asked, his eyes falling on Ban and Evelyn. "Not guards."

"Master Banastre Russell and Miss Evelyn Whittaker. They are Gilneans, citizens of mine, those who stood when the Wall fell and the Forsaken hit our shores. I brought them with me today for a reason, Varian."

And try as he might, Ban couldn't understand why. Surely there had to be nobles better suited than this, left? The guard returned, with three servants carrying chairs. "And that is?" Varian asked, while Genn sat. Ban waited until Evelyn primly took her seat, then finally, warily, sitting himself.

"I have done regrettable and terrible things, Varian. And they were my decisions. Many of my people did not agree with them. Many spoke out against them. Some took up arms against me to protest them. And others, such as Banastre and Evelyn here, were children when I started them. I felt what I did was in the best interests of my people, when I did them. Perhaps I was shortsighted. Cruel. Heartless. I accept that. But hold that against me, Varian. Not against my people. They have been put through so much…"

"I am told that the Forsaken have struck at Gilneas from the ruins of the Wall."

"They plagued my city."

Silas's curse was audible in the sudden silence. Ban stared at the floor between his feet, wishing he was somewhere else. He knew they were going to have to go through this, but the reality was still harsh. So much needed to be aired, the civil war, the affliction, the assault… but Ban had lived through them all.

"Plagued." Varian's expression stilled, and Ban felt something very familiar rise in him. Blood rage, like the beast coiled in each of Gilneas's worgen… this man was kin. Somehow, although he was not worgen. "Sylvanas plagued Gilneas?"

"Yes."

"I….see." Varian hissed, breathing out. "But I am told you effected an evacuation?"

"Yes. To…Teldrassil. The elves were instrumental in the rescue of my people."

"Odd. But why are you here, Genn?"

"I am here to ask for… the Alliance's aid to regain Gilneas. To retake it from the Forsaken and the Horde."

"Give it back to you, so you can rebuild the Wall, and hide again?"

Genn sighed, glanced back at Ban, then shook his head. "No, Varian, never again. My people sacrificed too much for that. I made enemies out of my friends. I thought it was for the best, then. I was arrogant. Gilneas has paid for my pride. I won't be around forever. Those of my generation who agreed with me have either perished, or likewise, will not be around forever. These two…"

Ban disliked being pointed out, even if he understood why, and he glanced warily into Varian's glowering face. Enough time had passed to where he'd been able to decide that the glower was probably the man's usual state, and that realization made it a little easier to swallow. But when was Genn going to drop the final blow? Ask this man to accept them…not just as Gilneans, those who had hidden behind their wall…but as worgen?

"…Are the future of Gilneas. And others just like them."

"Hmmmm. I'm also told you still have forces on the ground giving Sylvanas grief."

"My general, Crowley, and two thousand Gilneans are still in the north, fighting to keep them from settling in."

"Two thousand. Against Sylvanas and the Horde, in a concerted push. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Genn, but…"

"My people are still standing." Genn breathed. "We have turned our curses into blessings. Taken what was done to us, and used it against them."

Here it comes. Again, as if she heard him, Evelyn reached over and grasped his hand in his lap.

"My people were set upon a year ago… Worgen from the Bloodfang made it over the Wall. They swarmed the city, killing civilians and spreading the curse. We had just come out of a civil war, and then, suddenly we were hit again. My people, dead in the streets, dead in their homes, and so many of them… maddened worgen, running in the wilds." He sighed, shaking his head. "Banastre, if I may?"

Ban sighed, standing, while Evelyn released his fingers. It only made sense. He was the smallest, if he was targeted, the larger males would have a moment to attack. He was the smallest, the least formidable. He was also the fastest, there was a decent possibility he could flee the city alive. He shrugged out of his waistcoat, handing it to Evelyn. She accepted it, giving him a fleeting touch. "I love you, Ban. Remember that."

He nodded, took a deep breath, faced Genn, and changed.

"By the Light!" The paladin hissed, moving on an interception course between Banastre and Varian, had Banastre actually moved. He hadn't, of course, standing in solitary lupine glory in a single moonbeam cast across the floor. "You are…."

"Banastre Russell." Ban responded, and Silas stopped moving.

"Genn?" Varian demanded, and Banastre glanced around his shoulder. The Stormwind King had surged to his feet, sword in hand, but his other hand was open, gesturing the guards back. Ban could feel a dozen or more arrows targeted on him, his heart pounded in his chest. Evelyn gracefully, calmly, stood… glancing around, before she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against the rise of his ruff. "What is this?"

"One of my people. A survivor, through everything that's been done to him."

Varian was coming off of the dais, moving straight for Ban, no sign of fear in his expression. In fact, he still managed to glower. And it was a more impressive glower than before. "You speak." He glanced at Evelyn, and then stared at Ban.

"I do, indeed, your Majesty. I am Banastre Russell, one of the members of the Royal pack of Gilneas."

"Royal pack of Gilneas?" His gaze jumped to Genn, who nodded.

"I am afflicted as well. Those who serve me, personally, are members of my pack. Gilneas as a whole is my pack, but my…courtiers….are closer than that. Master Russell is closer than that. This is why the night elves came, to help us come back from this. They were part of the cure, and most of the evacuation."

"You're telling me that the Gilnean population is worgen?" He was very close to Ban, his eyes narrowed. Ban knew he was being sized up, measured, considered, and he forced himself to remain still under the scrutiny. Forced himself to ignore the paladin also moving closer. He rested his claws over Evelyn's wrists, and bowed his head.

"A goodly portion. The vast majority of the force with Crowley on the border is. Crowley himself is. With the exception of Evelyn there, every Gilnean in this room is."

"Silas, you had met the young man earlier…" He was close enough to reach out and touch Ban. "You said…"

"That he felt like there was something more there. Like… a dragon, shapeshifted. Now, I understand. He still has a good soul; it's just…wrapped up in this curse that isn't a curse. It does almost feel like he's been blessed. But he's no more wrong than the death knights, my King. In fact, I'd argue this is preferable."

"Until he bites someone." Varian sighed, and Genn shook his head.

"No. We aren't able to transmit the disease. There have been numerous times that we've had an accidental bite, with no passing of the disease on. If we're not feral, then we don't spread it. Not certain if it was the alchemical attempt, or the druidic attempt for a cure, but it doesn't happen."

"Cure." The paladin moved as close as Varian, flanking Banastre between the pair of the very large, very armed, very armored men. Try as he might to remain tranquil, he couldn't resist pinning his ears back, a whispery whine rising in his throat.

"Ssssshhhhhh, Ban." Evelyn breathed. Genn also moved into motion at the sound.

"Varian, you are disturbing the pup. Just because he's gone through the cures doesn't mean you can't push him too far."

"Pup? You call him a pup?" But still, he didn't move away. Ban turned in Evelyn's grasp, hiding his face in the fall of her hair at her shoulder. She smelled like honey and flowers…all he had to do was close his eyes and forget where he was. She fondled his ears, humming a lullaby under her breath.

"You leave him be!" she snapped suddenly, and Ban heard Varian laugh. Genn's chuckle was a little later in coming, but it did come, and Banastre cautiously opened his eyes.

"What's so funny?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nothing, Ban. I'm not going to sit here and watch them bully you. King or no, giant or no, enough is enough."

"My King, we have accepted the death knights of Acherus back. We have decided to overlook their flaws and take them as allies. They have committed grave sins, worse than hiding behind a Wall. They also lost control of their humanity, and fought to regain it. I do not see much of a difference." Banastre wasn't certain what the core of Silas's argument was, exactly, but he grasped the gist of it.

"Neither do I. And the idea of Sylvanas gaining the strategic point that Gilneas represents does not sit well with me. Allowing her to plague a human kingdom, even an independent one, without repercussions, does not sit well with me. Tell Wyrmbane to ready for an assault…on Gilneas. I am certain that Genn will be forthcoming with the intelligence we will need to get this done. And you, Russell…was it…?"

"Yes, your majesty?"

"You have proved your point…you can go back. You can go back?"

Ban proved the point by going back, suddenly eye level with Evelyn instead of hunched over her. "I can, yes."

"Good, I would hate to think that was a once in a lifetime deal, and I broke it. Your..er…." Varian motioned at Evelyn, "Might just kill me over it." He returned to the throne and sat, regaining his glower. "So. A visiting King and his entourage. How many quarters does my chatelaine need to prepare?"


	11. Chapter 11

"Well." Evelyn strode beside Ban, "That went better than it could have. You did wonderfully."

"I whined." He sighed, looking up into the darkened sky. "Like a puppy."

"Banastre. You were…just fine. You had a room full of people looking for an excuse to kill you, and you didn't give it to them."

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Being there."

She snorted. "Ban, with everything that's happened, you think that was rough? Being there is the easy part. Chasing after you because of the one time I wasn't there, that was the hard part."

"Hmmm." He shrugged, still keeping a cautious eye on the streets. It was late. Dark. This might be a decent area, but he hadn't survived this long coming home at odd hours without being wary. "You could have had quarters in the castle…."

"Charming." She retorted sarcastically. "No, thank you. That is a very scary king this place has. And we have a perfectly fine home here. And perfectly fine jobs here."

He chuckled, unlocking the door and stepping back to let her in. "What, don't find him appealing?"

"Not in the least bit. He's very growly." She narrowed her eyes and dropped her brows menacingly. "Bram was big enough, and that one is larger. Anyway, who'd want to be a queen? It's bad enough becoming nobility…"

"Which we aren't."

She lit the lamp in the hallway, staring at him while he secured the door behind him. Then she began to giggle, a wild, hilarious sound that Ban knew all too well. He was being teased; he just didn't see where it had come from. Or where it was going, for that matter. "Take your waistcoat off."

Well, he was going to do that anyway, it was not only his best, but it was his only. He did as he was told, hanging from a hook in the hallway. "And your shirt, as well."

"Evvvvveeeelllllllyyyyynnnn."

"Do it."

He shrugged, pulling it off. She stepped up, and traced a finger over his pack scar, her touch making him twitch and itch. "What's this, Banastre?"

"You know what it is." And he knew where she was going with this, now. And, like it or not, she was probably correct.

"Yes, I do. I'm wondering if you do. And then you offer to finance the Crown. What exactly do you think you're going to come out of this as, if we regain Gilneas?"

"That's not why…"

"Not why, but how." She noted, "Good night, Ban."

"Good night, Evelyn."

"There are Gilnean guards in the city." Carther began, and Ban sighed, locking down the final computation before glancing at him. He'd promised, and now, it was time to give it up. Genn was here. Varian knew. Today they began the base planning for the liberation of Gilneas. It would be out.

"So there are. Genn arrived last night." He spun the beads thoughtfully. "And you want to know."

"Banastre, I know you find it impertinent, but I felt I was very close to your family… It's not natural to have that many die. And I know it wasn't just your family… It was Gilneas."

"The worgen at Shadowfang…the Bloodfang… scaled the Wall, en masse. They flooded through the north, and swarmed the capital." The man sat, wordless. "They hit the night before Bram's wedding."

"I am…so sorry, Banastre."

"Bram was infected. I know now that he probably chased my father up into the rafters… and my father fell to his death. He was gone by the time I arrived on the scene. I came looking for them… Bram attacked me. I woke up on the floor, sometime later. Bram's body was next to me; I'd killed him…but not before he'd bitten me."

"What?"

"Bram afflicted me with the worgen curse. I was afflicted along with thousands of others who were bitten that night. Gilneas mourned when you were there…for our loss…and for those who died. My father. Bram. My mother and my aunt. Only Evelyn made it out."

"Ban, boy, don't be silly. You're not…"

"I'm not what? Worgen? Are you so certain?"

"I'm not so certain you haven't lost your mind."

Ban flicked his gaze around the office. The door was securely closed, the shades drawn against the heat. He sighed, pushed away from the desk, and changed, ending the motion with a flourishing bow. "I may have lost that as well, Mister Carther. But I am still certain I am worgen."

"You're…worgen…but you're not."

"I'm a Gilnean worgen. The end result of a great attempt to bring us back to ourselves. With such a large percentage of our population lost to this, including Genn, those who were left threw themselves into controlling us until there was a cure."

"Genn? The leadership of Gilneas is…?" The man was reduced to a vague wave in Ban's direction, and Ban responded with another graceful, twirling bow, exulting in his own power and precision. It shouldn't feel that right, that good…

"Huh. That's something you don't see every day. But you're…fine…like this?"

"I am."

"Then, well… Thank you for finally letting me know. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Yes." Ban shrank back into his human form, picking up a stylus. "I want to open the majority of my accounts to the Crown of Gilneas." If it was possible, the man appeared more stunned by those words than he had when Ban had exposed the change to him.

"Are you certain? That's a risky proposition… The benefits could be massive, but…"

"I am certain. Evelyn agrees. We are Gilneans, we back her liberation. Tooth, claw, and gold, if that's what it takes."

"I'm not certain Hannibal would agree with this, Banastre."

"My father is dead." Ban replied simplistically, "Bram is dead. I am it, Carther. My father never meant for me to have it, but this is how it is. Draw up the drafts."

"As you ask, Banastre."

The door opened, admitting Evelyn. She glanced at Carther, then nodded. "You told him."

"All of it, yes."

"Good. Genn sent summons for a meeting later with Varian and one of his generals... Wyrmbane."

"Halford Wyrmbane?" Carther demanded, and she nodded. "Very well, then. That means Varian is serious, he's giving you the best the Alliance has to offer… the 7th Legion. I feel a lot better about giving you those drafts now."

Never, in her life, had Evelyn Whittaker considered that she would be seated at a table, with a king on either side of her, seriously involved in an action to save Gilneas. She wasn't even one of the Royal pack…only a Royal Huntsman.

"A coastal landing is our only real option." Ban noted. "We're going to have to support Crowley and the liberation forces by coming overland up behind them."

"I have to agree." Halford Wyrmbane was yet another of these immense men that Stormwind seemed to produce, equipped with a huge presence and booming voice. Seated next to Ban, he served to make that one seem all the smaller and more fragile. "Losing Southshore hobbles our ability to effect a ground assault from north of the Wall. Sylvanas now has all the landing points north of Menethil Harbor that we could have staged from."

"All the more reason to take back Gilneas." Varian growled. "And Southshore."

"A foothold and push through Gilneas would make recovering Southshore easier, if there is indeed a concerted liberation force still working in Gilneas. And my reports back up Greymane's assertions… there is a group of worgen in and around Southshore, striking at Forsaken interests and fading back behind the Wall. If they don't control the peninsula completely, then yes, we should land in Gilneas."

Land in Gilneas. It sounded like a dream come true. She watched Ban, with his attention turned elsewhere, it was easy to do. Although he was surrounded by kings, generals, immense men, he seemed oddly at ease. He was focused, not afraid to show his arcane leanings by refining a map through magic. His memory was, as always, an intricate thing, and he'd set paws all over Gilneas. Combined with magic, it wove even Genn's maps into higher perfection.

"If we land over Duskhaven…" he rested a fingertip where the town had been, "We'll have immediate access to the roads. And we avoid scaling cliffs."

"So the land rises as you go north and east. Then I agree." Wyrmbane nodded. "We make a southwestern landing. Our first priority is to secure Gilneas, her capital." He dragged a blunted, calloused finger across Gilneas, toward the capital inked in the middle of the peninsula. "And provide relief for her defenders. We'll have to launch the mission from here…" He glanced in the direction of the docks, his hazel eyes clouded in thought. "Other than the defenders here…" He placed his thumb over the headlands, just south of the Wall, "Which I'm given as a couple of thousand Gilnean worgen…"

Evelyn was impressed, he almost said the phrase like he'd heard it for years and said it a thousand times before.

"…What forces does Gilneas bring? We bring the 7th Legion, and the night elves are already pledging more military support." That was the phrase that the man stumbled over, and half the table nodded warily at the words.

"We bring 10,000. Not counting Crowley's force."

Evelyn felt herself pale. That was stretching them to their absolute operational limits, but it was a matter of pride that they far outnumber the Alliance's forces. They needed help, not to have to done for them.

"So, Gilneas fields 12,000. The 7th brings three. The night elves have pledged two." Wyrmbane nodded before raising eyes to Varian, who had remained silent and measuring from his place at the head of the table. "Yes, your majesty. This is entirely doable. We can regain Gilneas, turn the Forsaken from their push to take all lands north of Thandol, secure an operational point to retake Southshore, and keep pressure away from Light's Hope and the rebuilding east."

"Good. Then we make preparations."


	12. Chapter 12

Preparations. Ban had no idea where to begin. The house smelled of gun oil as Evelyn prepared, readying a pile of weapons that had once belonged to him. He guessed that in a roundabout way, they still did. He envied her, she had something to do. He didn't. He had no weapons. No special gear. It was just…him.

Board another boat. Return to Gilneas. Fight again. He shouldn't be looking forward to that, with all that he'd learned, he should be dreading it. War was hell, but the knowledge they were going filled him with a focus, a purpose, again.

Liberate Gilneas. It was a concept so large; he had trouble getting his mind around it. And he was going to be there… He and Evelyn, both. He moved to the doorway, studying her as she methodically moved through the task before her. "What?" She asked without looking up.

"Nothing. I wish there was something I could do."

"So the Sanctum is not working out?" Her voice was level, and he sighed in exasperation. How could he explain? Should he even bother? How could something he truly felt called to do, become such a chore? It was as if it died the moment someone tried to teach him to do it.

"Evie."

"Yes or no, Ban. Don't you Evie me."

"No." He responded, an edge of defiance in his voice, and that finally drew her gaze up. "I don't want to be an over glorified librarian in a purple dress!" The very idea of years of it, in spite of Genn's stated wishes, put Ban's teeth on edge.

She chuckled, returning her attention to the weapon across her knees. It was not the answer he'd been expecting, and he eyed her warily. He was on the verge of walking away from yet another school of magic more than willing to teach him, and she only laughed? "Evie?"

"Ban."

"I wish I could." He sat across from her. "I really do. I just…can't."

"So be it."

"Genn…"

She limbered the weapon, sighting down the barrel. "To hell with Genn." She stated coldly, and he blinked in disbelief. "You've fought for him. Bled for him. Run yourself into the ground for him. Played games for him. Given him a fortune. And you'll fight…again. How dare he ask for you to make yourself miserable? You'll find your way, Ban, when it's right. And this isn't right."

"Love you, Evie." He chuckled, and she merely glared at him in response.

"Someone has to look out for you." She muttered, replacing the long arm on the table. "You haven't been doing such a fine job of looking out for yourself lately." She answered his highly offended look with a half shrug. "Just letting you know."

"Bah." He replied, "I'm no hero. Never claimed I was."

She only nodded in answer, going on to the next pistol. He sighed, settling down in the chair next to the blessedly empty fireplace, his gaze locked on the windows facing the docks. So soon… He had thought it was difficult to be just dropped into conflict, but this waiting was a thousand times worse.

"We'll work it out after we liberate Gilneas." She stated, not a hint of doubt in her voice. Evelyn had always been the one who believed, concretely. He was the one who saw a myriad ways to fail. She only ever saw one way to succeed. "Would it be so bad to just be a merchant again?"

Yes. His soul whispered, and she glanced up again as if he'd spoken it. "Fine." She sighed, staring at the pile of weapons before her. "That is no place either one of us can go back to. Too much gone for that, for both of us."

"Exactly." He had been a poor excuse for a merchant before this, and now… Bram had been the merchant. He had the disposition for it, if not the gifts for it. Ban had the mind that put numbers in their place, made a ledger give up all of its secrets, but the day to day minutiae of the job was mind numbingly boring. And he'd had no intrinsic ability to choose stock that would sell, all he saw were things he'd want…and few people had his tastes. The plan had been that Bram and Evelyn would front the business, and Ban would handle the numbers side of it. "I don't know…Evie."

She shrugged, placing the final weapon down on the table and wiping gun oil from her fingers. "Right now I know all I need to. Tomorrow, we go after Gilneas. There's no point in worrying about a business that doesn't exist."

He sighed, shaking his head. She was a terrible pragmatist, always had been, and it looked as if she always would be. But he needed a level head, and she was his.

"Get some sleep, Ban." She said, and he gazed at her in disbelief. Sleep? Now? Now that there was a row of warships at dock, taking on supplies, as they spoke?

"There will be plenty of time to sleep on the passage over."

She grimaced at the words. She'd never been a good sailor, prone to seasickness. All of those beautiful days at Keel, she'd been happy to sit on the shore with his mother… while he and Bram learned the basics of sailing. "You are not my friend." She growled, and he grinned back at her.

"It's a much shorter trip than to and from Teldrassil." He offered gently, and she chuckled.

"True enough, and I wouldn't miss it for the world."

As he'd expected, sleep had escaped Banastre, and judging by Evelyn's appearance the next morning, had eluded her as well. She said nothing to him, merely clipping the leash to the furtive mastiff, and gathering up her pack and gun cases. He nodded, picking up his own very small pack and leading the way out into the streets. They were filled with people, and he could smell the heavy overtones of worgen…his people…his pack… in great numbers. For the first time since arriving at Stormwind, he felt...almost safe. He could hear the tones of Gilneas from so many of those on the narrow alleyways, so many were dressed correctly now. Ten thousand Gilneans, at Stormwind… It was time to get this done.


	13. Chapter 13

Banastre woke to a muffled, eerie silence. He could hear Evelyn, just an arm length away, asleep. He could hear her mastiff, tucked in a corner, asleep. But the sounds of the ships seemed so far away… only the one he was within sounded even remotely normal. The air was thickly damp, and he moved cautiously up onto the deck of the ship, suddenly aware of exactly what he sensed.

He could not see the mast in front of his face. Could barely discern the shrouding next to him. "Gilneas greets us with fog." Genn noted, his voice coming out of the haze well before Ban could see his form approaching. "One of those fogs."

Ban made a thickly agreeable noise, aware that the king might not actually see his nod. One of those fogs, and this definitely appeared to be one, could swath the entirety of the peninsula in a blanket of blindness for days. "Good." He muttered, and Genn glanced at him. "The pack can move through this with impunity… and the Kal'dorei shapeshifters."

"Agreed. Under this cover, we can probably move the faster of the pack up to support Crowley while those less capable of handling it take the mainline beach assault."

Ban growled, reading between the lines. It certainly sounded like yet another run across Gilneas for him…. "Yes, Russell." Genn chuckled, clapping him on the back. "I need you to make your way to Crowley. Let him know we've arrived."

"Of course." He stared into the impenetrable wall of vapor before him. "How far are we? Or do we even know?" This was the type of weather that the Kul'tiras would sail in, but few others.

"Thirty miles from the Duskhaven beach, give or take. We're going slow…no wind, but the currents are heading in the correct direction. We'll get there."

"We beach at low tide." Ban considered…that was the only way they could get the ships back off of the beach after the disgorgement.

"Aye. Which is in…" The king pulled out a watch and wiped its face before peering at it. "Five hours. About what the admirals agree. We make landfall then."

"And I run for Crowley."

"Yes. Evelyn will do better with the Alliance ground push. But Crowley needs to know we're on the ground…in case he needs to pull back to meet us."

"Agreed." It was…chilly. After Stormwind, it was almost refreshing, but he could feel the flush of coat rising down his back. He almost fought the change, but then gave in, sliding without thought into it. Those with them now had all seen at least one of them like this, why hide what felt entirely too comfortable?

"So, this is Gilneas."

Silas laughed, aware of the joke. This was nothing but the underbelly of one of the most complete and obscuring fogs he had ever had the misfortune of experiencing. "I would say this is fog. There's probably a Gilneas in it, somewhere, but I cannot be completely certain." He said, glancing at the woman next to him. She was tall, graceful, clad in padded armor dyed violet.

"Hmmmm." Delana nodded sagely, still peering into the near blinding whiteness before her. "It's not plague bearing, is it?"

"No." He answered the warmage next to him easily enough, his eyes locked on the form pacing the rail a few paces away. "It's just water." The young male worgen paused in his pacing, snorted loudly, and vanished below decks.

"Mage." Delana identified, and Silas tilted his head. "That one. Is a mage. A rather interesting idea there, his arcane soul has survived this intact and uncorrupted. What do you know about him…if anything?"

"I think that's Russell. His coloring is unusual, I gather, and not many of their mages survived. Voreph says he's an inconsistent, but gifted, mage. Failed out of the Gilnean college for mages. And didn't do very well in ours, either."

"Why?"

"He apparently doesn't handle focus well." The worgen reappeared, trailed by the young woman he seemed so attached to, and Silas narrowed his eyes. Royal Huntsman… a little questioning had gotten him to the bottom of just what those were. Hunters charged by the Crown with the control, capture and destruction of worgen. Gilneas had been overrun with thousands of new, enraged worgen…their own people…and those who had brought the Curse to them. They had created a group devoted to handling them… Greymane's Royal Huntsmen.

"Oh, he doesn't handle book learning droned into him by a relic of the Kirin Tor?"

"Or that." Silas agreed, "He might just be a decent warmage, however…"

"My thoughts exactly."

The worgen had his back to them, hunched over the woman with him. As usual, that one was completely relaxed… Silas had watched her in Varian's throne room with some concern, but he knew acceptance and love when he saw it. "You be careful!" She snapped in reply to whatever he had said to her, punctuating the words with a glancing cuff to the worgen's shoulder. If he even felt it, he gave no sign, his wedge shaped head firmly turned to the starboard side of the ship.

"Love you, Evie." He stated, and Silas caught the bunch of muscles beneath his blue coat, before he launched himself off of the railings, towards the water.

"The hell?" Silas demanded, charging the railing and grasping it. The worgen was long gone, the woman merely watching the direction he had vanished in. She jumped when Silas appeared; giving him the peeved look she wore so often.

"What?" She demanded, and the immense dog beside her gave a rattling, coughing growl.

"He…jumped."

"Actually…" Delana disagreed, moving up to the railing and squinting into the fog. "He blinked. Damn near made the shore, we're only a little ways off of it, and he's….gone."

"Headed north, to Crowley and our forces on the Wall. Ban is our fastest courier."

"And he's a mage." Silas glanced between the two women, knowing exactly where Delana would be going with this. The boy had failed in Voreph's eyes, and pretty much the entirety of the Stormwind Mage's Sanctum, but the majority of the best combat mages in Azeroth had as well. He belonged, not in Stormwind, but on Dalaran, being taught by the dragons that specialized in turning out warmages, not archivists.

"Sometimes." The Gilnean woman replied warily, her brown eyes stormy. "Depends on the moment. Enough of this. No more schools. I'm tired of watching the lot of you tell him he's no good. You leave him be, I tell you."

The mastiff rose to its feet, growling ominously, a ridge of hair rising on its back. "Evelyn." A voice came out of the fog, and she turned to it, her nostrils flaring. There was open warfare in her expression, and Silas felt for her, caught between the voice of her king, and upholding the man he now understood she loved.

"No." She finally stated coldly. "I mean it, you leave him be. No more talk of these schools. You've asked too much of him, Genn. I put my foot down on this one. Every time this happens, he gets more and more distraught. Maybe he's just not meant to be a mage! There, I said it! Would that be such a terrible thing?"

"Yes." Delana whispered, but Silas was aware he was the only one who caught it, the two Gilneans locked in a staring contest.

Genn dropped it first, his eyes going to the starboard railing that Russell had vanished off of. "Neither the time nor the place, Miss Whittaker." He stated, "We'll be over Duskhaven within the hour."

"Yes…your Majesty." There was a hint of distaste beneath her voice, but if Genn even noticed, he gave no sign, spinning to carry on down the railings away from the young woman. She stared at him as he vanished, her nostrils flared and her eyes gloomy. "Damn fool." She grumbled, then glanced at Silas and Delana. "Eh…."

Silas shrugged, giving her a benign stare. From what he understood, Genn had plenty to answer for. Silas respected any who would make their doubts known, rather than letting them grow in darkness. "Your companion has some gifts." Delana began cautiously, and the woman awarded her with the same distasteful stare.

"You leave him be." She retorted, almost automatically, and Silas fought a grin down.

"Hear this one out." He breathed, and the Gilnean woman gazed at him, before turning her eyes back to Delana.

"What?" She finally asked, her tone much calmer. "You're a mage. I recognize the purple. It's never a good thing when any mage wants to talk about Banastre."

"Because he's flighty. Because if he's bored, it's a terrible thing. Because if he's not about to lose his head, he doesn't learn a damn thing?"

"Right… Or if he needs it to get into somewhere he's not supposed to be."

Silas chuckled at Delana's intrigued expression. The 7th Legion's warmages were a varied lot, and adding one with a penchant to 'get places he wasn't supposed to be' was obviously an appealing idea.

"What makes you think you're any different than any that's come before?" The Gilnean demanded, "I've seen them with that look. And then Ban comes home feeling a hundred times worse than he did before."

"Your companion was born to be a mage. But there's more than one type of mage, Miss Whittaker, and the difference is, all the other mages before were the wrong type of mage for him. There's nothing wrong with him, they were the fools for not seeing what he was. "

"And what do you think he is?" There was still doubt flowing in the Gilnean woman's tone, she wasn't trying to obscure it, but there was also hope.

"Banastre Russell is a warmage. Same as I am. A little time with the dragons, and…"

"Dragons?"

"Sure….?" Delana looked dubious, and Silas snorted.

"Gilneas closed her borders and turned her back on the Dragonflight's plight. If there were ever dragons in Gilneas afterwards, they were undoubtedly hidden in a human form. They've been a completely human kingdom since… the draenei are new to them."

"Ah, well, yes, that." Delana shrugged, her eyes locked on the shadow of a coastline mostly obscured to h her. "The sooner we leave all of that behind us, the better for all of us."


	14. Chapter 14

The air was heavy with fog, scented with evergreens and the ghostly smell of roses. Ban wasn't certain if that was true, or just his nose playing tricks with him, but it smelled so much like home. He had paws on Gilneas again, and this time, he wasn't running away.

All he had to do was make it to Crowley. He flattened his ears against his skull, deftly weaving through the trees. Hopefully there was still a Crowley to make his way to. And Lorna. And… His claws dug deeper at the very idea. They had taken so damned long to return… No, Crowley was invincible. He had to believe that, and turn his mind against the darker, cynical voice deep in his heart. He had to just keep bolting forwards, northward, towards the Wall. Northwards, towards the Forsaken…

A sudden, enveloping smell surrounded him and he locked his joints, sliding on the icing fog coated leaves beneath him. He instinctively blinked his way out of what his mind had barely grasped as a trap, as the ground evaporated beneath him. Worgen. This was a smell he'd never forget, and never forgive. The cures had blunted the Curse's hold upon them, and they smelled differently for it. Their scents were less abrasive, less harsh and consuming… this was the smell of feral worgen. Several of them, a whole running pack of them, and the majority of them were male. Ban was just a lightweight, and an entire pack of feral worgen was about the last thing in the world he wanted to deal with.

He heard a sharp baying rise in the tree line, and he growled, digging in and bolting at full speed. He had to be able to outrun them, he could feel them pressing in behind him, there was no doubling back. The only way out was straight ahead….

Which smelled equally as strongly of feral worgen. Ban switched directions gracefully, bouncing off of a tree, and grazing past the closest of his pursuers. There were so damned many of them, and his own speed had carried him right into the heart of them.

"Damn." He hissed between his fangs, using another particularly bouncy tree to again reorient himself. They'd eventually run him into the ground like this…

"Banastre Russell….halt!" A bellow boomed from the fog, deep, and most certainly not from any feral worgen.

Stunned, he missed the next bounce, and slid gracelessly down the target tree to land on all fours in its shadow. "Crowley?" He demanded, uncertain. Were his ears playing tricks with his nose? It certainly sounded like Crowley, and now, it certainly smelled like him. And, released from the fog…it certainly looked like him…

"Yes, pup. Crowley."

"I….don't understand." That was Crowley, sure as day, striding from the fog towards him. And he wasn't in the Headlands, next to the Wall…but here, just north of the Capital? And he was here, with these….things? Ban was vaguely aware that he was hunkered into a trembling stance, the majority of his weight borne on his rear legs as he shifted back to free his claws…either for swiping or casting…he just wasn't certain which. This all stank of wrong, and a whisper of a growl rose in his throat. Crowley froze when it became audible, tilting his head and pricking his ears.

"Your pup seems to have the measure of you, Crowley." The nearest of the feral pack hissed in a thickened, harsh version of the pack tongue; moving from the fog. He kept a wary distance from Ban, although he gave insult to Crowley. And Crowley was the much more formidable of the two Gilnean worgen. Ban was desperately confused, something had gone terribly wrong. Crowley was miles from where he should be. These were not Gilneans he was with, but those who had brought the curse to Gilneas. Was the cure slipping? Was he a traitor? He'd taken up arms against Genn before, was this the perfect opportunity to bring him down? And the deepest question… was there a way out of this? Crowley was large, but slow. If Ban could get started, build up a good speed… But no, he was hemmed in by all of these monsters. They'd cut him off before he could get truly started.

"Russell will understand." Crowley stated evenly, and Ban truly wished that he did. "What is your news, Russell?"

"Ah….no." There was no way in hell he was going to share the landing plans with Crowley when absolutely none of these made a particle of sense to him.

"No? Weren't you sent by Genn to find me?"

"Yeeessssssss….." Ban wished he could just melt away into the fog, but that was more than beyond his abilities. He could blink, but never could outrun the large feral pack he sensed lurking in the bright mist.

"Then out with it, pup."

A slow, burning unease rose in Ban's soul. "No." He hissed back, and the single visible member of the feral pack, the one who had taunted Crowley, chortled in an all too human manner. "You know my name, Crowley. I am not your pup… in fact; it is rather the other way around. You have a past of being less than loyal to the Crown. You're miles away from where you're supposed to be. And you're consorting with…these." If he was in for a pence, he was in for a guinea, and he indicated the feral worgen with a jut of his muzzle. "And you expect me to give over Genn's message without question?"

The feral worgen's yellow eyes fastened on Crowley, levelly. "Pup has your measure, Crowley."

"Russell. I had to fall back, there was no other choice."

No other choice. From anyone else, Ban could accept that, but Crowley? Never.

"…They had Lorna." Crowley finally managed, and Ban bit his tongue. Lorna? "What would you have done if Sylvanas had Evelyn? How far would you have pulled back to, to keep her safe?"

Ban knew the answer to that. If Evelyn was in danger, and he truly believed that his withdrawal from the field was what was needed to keep her safe, he'd be cooling his heels in the southernmost part of Stranglethorn Vale. As far from Gilneas as he could possibly manage….

"And…these?" That still didn't explain the presence of the feral pack. Were they making certain that Crowley upheld the agreement? A group of eyes to make certain he stayed out of the Headlands? All the more reason to keep the plans to himself, and he could count himself captured if that was the case.

"Our new allies."

"Allies? Crowley, they…" Were to blame for so much. Bram. His father. His mother. His aunt. The lean male worgen stared at him, patiently, and Ban snorted in outright disgust. "They killed my family, damn it! And you have the absolute gall to call them allies! Are you a lunatic?"

"Whatever it takes to retake Gilneas." Crowley growled through locked teeth, "Pup."

"Fine words." The feral chuffed, "Until it's you losing something. We had a chance, Crowley. We could have taken Sylvanas…"

"Lorna is all I have left. Now, tell me what Genn sent you with, pup…" Crowley's growl became the high pitched bawl of an outraged sheep. Ban knew he'd probably never manage to catch him off guard again, and was undoubtedly about to pay for this, dearly, but he'd heard enough.

"For the final time! I am not your pup, Crowley! I made you, not the other way around! And no, until I speak to someone else, I will not give you Genn's message! Lorna has been released?" He prayed that she was, partially because he was truly fond of her, and partially because if she wasn't, Crowley's actions were all suspect.

"Lorna was released, safely." The feral snorted, his eyes constantly moving between Ban and the wandering sheep. "But with that one losing status with our pack leader, and our momentum lost, we've been waiting for any word from Gilneas."

Crowley's immense form flowed out of the sheep, and he glared daggers at Ban. "Lorna is fine." He growled, and Ban could feel his rage building. "Thank you for your concern, Master Russell."

"Then I will give her my message." This was more than Ban had been counting on. He'd considered running into the undead. Orcs. Undead with orcs. Feral worgen. Gilnean resistance. But not…feral worgen with Gilneas's resistance. The very idea set him on a razor edge of doubt.

"I'll go and get her." Crowley vanished back into the bright fog, and Ban warily sat back on his haunches, doing his best to not stare spookily into that obscuring curtain. He knew more than enough…there were at least a dozen around him. They were longer and leaner than the average Gilnean male worgen changed by the cures; they could probably give him a run for his money. And he really didn't want to be torn down here. Or, worse, bitten again. Could he be reinfected? Lose himself, slide back into that darkness?

He heard hooves, and swiveled his head in the direction of the sound. "Russell?" Lorna hailed, riding into the clearing. "My father said you had returned! He also said…" She slid from her saddle, and Ban flattened his ears back. She was geared in a full set of armor, instead of the dress he was accustomed to, and she still had a fading bruise across a cheek. "That you would not give him the King's message?"

"All is well, here?" He asked warily, and she nodded.

"As well as can be. I assume you were told we have pulled back from the Wall…" she colored slightly, "And why?"

"Yes. I am having trouble accepting some of what he tells me, however."

"Your father was being obnoxious." The feral managed in a thickly accented, but perfectly comprehensible, common. "Your pack runner is right to be cautious."

"Of course he is." Lorna wrinkled her nose, staring in the direction that Crowley had not come back from. "His pride is hurt. But, Banastre… you've returned. Surely that means…"

Banastre was not commonly a man of faith. His leanings had been indulging himself…money, food, drink, challenging his mind, chasing those things that appealed. There were priests, and now, druids…for that. But it was foolish to deny a resource…

"Goldrinn?"

"The Bloodfang have allied with Gilneas's pack. Crowley has lost face by retreating from the Wall, it has strained Ivar's regard of him, but they still fight in faith. Lorna is what she was before. They can be trusted."

Lorna looked puzzled when he opened his eyes and focused on her, the feral merely nodded in near respect. "By now, the ships have made landfall over Duskhaven. We bring troops to liberate Gilneas."

She crowed in joy, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank the Light, Banastre! Few words are as welcome as those."


	15. Chapter 15

Evelyn stood in silence, her fingers wrapped in the mastiff's collar, her gaze turned northeastward, into the impenetrable fog. Ban had vanished in that direction, headed straight towards the ruins of their Wall…and Crowley.

"We're still reporting no contact… The fleet is off of the beach and headed northwards, towards this Keel Harbor. It has deep water portage and a closer vicinity to the Capital." Silas muttered, and she glanced down at him. "So I am led to believe?" He continued, and she sighed. If only she'd paid more attention… Ban had been the one with the interest in sailing. He'd been the one skimming across Keel's choppy waves, his laugh bellowing out…

"It is where we put a lot of our cargo to port, so it supported Kul'turasian merchantmen. It is where the Kal'dorei effected the evacuation from." Both facts supported his belief, and she didn't sound like a complete moron in answer. "Our other ports were swamped when the waves came." She continued morosely and he nodded sympathetically.

"We were hit pretty hard as well." He said, glancing beyond her, into the glare of the fog. "We were just expecting…"

More of a response. Evelyn had been expecting a fight from the moment they passed over Duskhaven, only to be met by this deep, surreal silence. These fogs were not uncommon, especially at this time of year… they turned the City's streets into blind mazes, and her homes into warm sanctuaries. Maybe that was it… Evelyn had never been out of the City in one of them. She'd always been surrounded by familiarity, by noise. This was just…eerie. Somewhere, out there, were enemies. And unlike the worgen she hunted, these were enemies she couldn't sense. She had to rely on the mastiff's keen nose now.

She glanced down at him, not surprised that his amber eyes were also locked into the fog. He suddenly whined, wiggled, and let go a sharp bark. Not a threat, but a greeting.

Ban suddenly appeared out of the fog, spangled with mist drops and breathing hard. Evelyn responded by leveling her long arm towards the fog behind him, and the paladin beside her surged to his feet, hand on his sword. Ban shouldn't be back yet. Even he couldn't make the run to the Wall that quickly.

"Genn!" He snapped, and she waved in the appropriate direction. His very stance read as uncertain, and she fell into step behind him as he loped towards Genn.

"Ah, Russell." The king greeted, warily, flowing through a shift into his lupine form and back to human. "You smell of Crowley. Lorna. And Bloodfang. Is there trouble? You're back sooner than we expected."

"Crowley has lost ground." Ban stated coldly and Genn grimaced in answer. "However, the resistance is intact, and holding a line in the Northgate woods. In fact…" He pinned ears back and crinkled his lips in disgust, "He has increased the resistance."

"And you do not seem pleased by this, Master Russell?"

"It's why I smell of Bloodfang. They've come out of Silverlaine's keep and have sided with Crowley…"

"That makes…no sense." Genn mused, rubbing his chin in thought. "Unless the Horde came through them to get to us…."

"Possibly." Ban allowed, his silver eyes falling on Evelyn. He moved, settling closer to her, on the opposite side of the mastiff. "I care for them little, but…" His voice faded off, "They seem to be fighting for Gilneas in good faith." He finally finished, an edge of embarrassment in his voice. "Crowley was forced from the line when the Forsaken took Lorna."

Genn hissed, then frowned and sniffed the air again. "But you smell of Lorna." He repeated stubbornly.

"The payment for her return was our resistance's retreat south of the Wall. According to Lorna, this area we're in has little Forsaken presence. We won't start running into them until we hit the Capital."

"Good." Silas noted. "We can get a big foothold going if that's the case. How long do these fogs usually last?"

Genn laughed, and Evelyn snorted. "Could last for days." She finally told the crestfallen paladin. "But the packs should be able to navigate it fairly well."

"True." Silas sighed, his eyes on his maps. "A lot of our forces will as well, the night elves vanish into it. But the guns on those ships won't."

"No help for that." Ban stated. "These are just one of those things you tolerate and work around."

Evelyn nodded, moving to grasp the reins of the horse she'd been loaned. Now that they knew where Crowley and the resistance were, they'd be moving inland soon. Back into Gilneas…

Ban clung to her side, disturbing the horse as he pressed up close. "Shh, Ban." She murmured, and he glanced up at her, then shrugged. He seemed content to rest for the moment, his eyes following the 7th's men as they readied to move.

Evelyn had the horse at a comfortable hand gallop, striding inland, secure in the knowledge that Ban ranged before her, when she heard gunfire erupt before her. Her first instinct was to clap heels into the horse's sides and ride forward faster, towards Ban, but caution overrode it. She pulled up, dropping into a wary trot… The paladin, however, obeyed the same first instinct she'd had, his great barded charger leapt into a big gallop towards the noise. Ban appeared out of the trees at her side just a heartbeat later, taking her squarely in the shoulder and bowling her off of her mount. He cushioned her fall, wrapping around her and rolling with the impetus, bounded to his feet and set her down in one graceful motion. There was a screech as her horse went down, and the trees erupted into chaos.

A round ricocheted, entirely too close for comfort, and Ban yipped in surprise, swarming to the top of the tree she sought refuge behind. The mastiff growled, his back hair lifted, his eyes scanning the fog.

No target yet. She cocked the coaching arm, waiting for either of the two canines with her to find one and let her know. These weren't worgen. They didn't incite the same near supernatural instincts she was accustomed to having on a hunt. They were somewhere in this soup of a fog…

A thickly coated, clawed hand reached out of the tree, rested on her head, and turned it a few degrees to the left. The other hand, placed on her right shoulder, pointed unerringly in the same direction. "Twenty paces." He muttered thickly in her ear, dangling from the tree. "Straight shot."

Right. Twenty paces, that direction, straight shot. She butted the longarm into her shoulder, took a deep breath, visualized the shot he described, and let go with both barrels. There was an entirely too pleasing scream after the report, but she was already being moved, snatched up into the tree like a rag doll. Ban clutched her to his chest, blinking to another copse of trees barely visible a few paces away.

"How many?" She demanded, and he smelled the air, puzzling.

"Hard to tell. They all smell alike. At least six, but hold fire until you see targets… Silas is in contact. You'll shoot him."

She could hear proof of at least part of that, Silas's bull bellow and the clang of swords. And with his progress, a bright, shining light that illuminated the copse. Now there were visible targets, and she nodded sharply, bringing the weapon to bear again. Ban chuckled, catapulted out of the tree, adding his own rainbow glow of arcane energy as he began casting.


	16. Chapter 16

It was pretty much over before it had truly begun. They had only been a quarter of a mile in front of their unit, and they were done by the time a breathless Delana arrived. "I heard…gunfire." She managed, her eyes darting between Silas leaning over bodies, and the quiet pairing of Ban and Evelyn a couple of steps away from him.

"Handful of deathguards." The paladin grumbled, standing to his full height and staring into the wisping fog. "Russell…"

"Eh?" Ban replied immediately, moving fluidly up to Silas's side and staring intently up at him.

"Others within earshot of this ruckus?"

Ban shrugged, leapt into a flurry of motion, and Evelyn could hear him spiraling away from their position. There was a long moment of silence before he dropped out of a nearby tree, landing gracefully between Evelyn and Silas.

"No. None."

"Good. I will deal with the bodies."

Evelyn woke, blissfully comfortable. Her right side was pressed against one of Wyrmford's command tents, and it radiated warmth. On her left side, Banastre slept, curled around her. His silken coat smelled of Gilneas, and his deep breathing soothed. The mastiff was asleep against her feet, trying to sidle under the tent's side fly that they sheltered beneath.

The encampment was quiet, stealthy, and she craned to glance out from under the fly. "Eh?" Ban queried sleepily, his forehead against her shoulder.

"Nothing." She whispered, and he shifted, stretched, and rested an arm around her.

"Warm enough?"

"Yes." She breathed, measuring the fog. It seemed fainter, but that might just be her imagination. No matter, the leading edge of the pack would hit the capital today. They'd either make the run in this, hidden, obscured, or they'd make the run in the open. Ban ran with Genn, Ban was a scout; he'd be there before the majority were…

"You be careful." She growled, feeling the mastiff shift at the tone in her voice.

"That goes for you as well." She flopped over, nose to muzzle with him. His silver eyes were bright in the dark markings of his face, "We're almost there, Evie."

Such an optimist. He'd always been devil may care, flippant, why would she expect anything different now? But no, it wasn't that. This wasn't Ban being Ban, this was different. This was…faith. Hope. Neither were his usual states of being, but then again, he was changing. Growing up. As was she, as frightening as it was.

"I'm serious, Ban." This close to the capital, dread closed in on her like the fog which had closed in over Gilneas. "I…."

"Shhh…Evie." He still had the arm over her shoulder, and he tried to pull her closer, but she responded with an evil tempered hiss and a smack of the flat of her hand against his chest.

"This isn't a storybook, Ban! Dead is dead."

"I know that, Evie. But we're here to get a job done. I'm here. You're here. And you need to be just as cautious." He crawled out from under the fly, and she shuddered, half from morbid dread and half from the loss of his body heat. It was a chill day, there was a single fragile icicle hanging from the fly, and she wiggled into the heavy sweater that had been bundled up in her bedroll since the flight from Keel, and moved to stand beside Ban. He stared implacably towards the northeast, and she sighed, shaking her head. His mind was already there. His body and heart would follow.

Run. Stop thinking, and just…run. Ban did just that, leaving the majority of the pack behind him as he gave into his instincts. There were few who could keep up with him, and he was not surprised that those who were determined to were Bloodfang…long, thin, lithe, they had moved across Gilneas like a torrent, and they did it again this morning. Their growling spurred him on, reawakened memories of running wild and free in the Headlands, before the cure. He was well ahead of Genn's entourage, well ahead of most of the elements of the 7th, when the trees gave way into marsh… The marsh that edged the inlet surrounding the city.

His intellect tried to override instincts then, and he wavered, but the male Bloodfang behind him gave him a sharp snarl and he felt the graze of claws nip at his rump.

No, no pause. He had to just keep going, to that wall, still shrouded in fog. Over that wall, and into the warrens of the city. Just as the Bloodfang had done that night, only this time, he was with the swarm.

He followed the leader, diving into the water to come up underneath the remaining bridge, and scurried down its underpinnings, unnoticed by the undead guards watching above. His blue coat faded into the shimmering fog and the granite walls, while the Bloodfang were merely dark shadows playing from cover to cover. Before he completely absorbed it, he was in position on the roof of the jail, one of the highest points in the city, his eyes locked on the shambling flow of traffic below him.

"Ugh." He muttered in disgust, and the Bloodfang beside him snorted in agreement. It could always be worse. Ban's curse left him intact, whole, alive. The majority of those were weeping, oozing abominations. Dead.

"There." The Bloodfang gestured with a clawed hand, and Ban felt his ears pin back. No, not another one of those. He hated those. "Dark ranger. We need to take her down first. Now."

Without another syllable, the Bloodfang leapt towards the female figure on the skeletal horse below them. Ban surged forwards, minding his footing on the slick tiles, and caught himself at the edge. Wait…wait…wait…. He couldn't cast on all fours, but if he stood and was silhouetted here, on this roof, he'd give them all away. He could first sense, and then see, the others as they boiled from the windows like giant rats, swarming their target.

Now. He stood, and gestured his way into his first cast. Their job was simple; force the Forsaken focus deep into the streets of Gilneas, and away from the walls. Evelyn was coming up with the 7th, and the guns, and the more time they had to stage, the better.

Evelyn could smell a deep, brackish smell, heavier than the fog, and she chuckled. "What?" Silas asked from beside her, visible as a bright shadow in the rolling fog.

"We're close, I can smell the inlet."

"Is that what that smell is?" The warmage on his other side marveled, and Evelyn's chuckle deepened. At this time of year, it was difficult to judge which was a more pervasive smell… the strong brackish marsh odor, or the never ending smell of coal and ash in the grates.

Evelyn pondered the ears of her newest mount for a moment, doing the calculations in her head. Ban would just automatically know the answer, but she didn't…. "Rising tide, it will abate somewhat as the mud is covered."

"Good. That's a rank smell."

It's the smell of home. It twisted Evelyn's heart, both good and bad, and she sighed. Be careful, Ban.

Oh, who was she fooling? By the time Ban had made it over those walls, he would have become piss and vinegar, rolling along with the tide of worgen. He was in the Pack's care now, and out of her hands.

"This will take us up to one of the narrower parts of this inlet, if I recall Master Russell's maps correctly? Since we have been warned that the resistance earlier has already blown most of the bridges across?"

Evelyn nodded, more as an agreement with herself than any motion to the paladin. This bridge had been destroyed during the original Forsaken assault, that she knew. And there was no way they'd be getting guns across mud. Or across the inlet at full tide. "Yes, narrow here."


	17. Chapter 17

Kill. Destroy. Maim. Deeply tapped into his feral nature, Ban swarmed with the pack. This time, it was him raining death from the roof tops. This time, his blood sang in lust, he was the shadowed horror bounding along the walls. Although he would never forgive the Bloodfang, and certainly never forget…. That night's devastation was embroidered onto his soul, but he finally understood them. The joy. The rage. Exulting in the curse, his blood rushing in his ears. Even his casting was feral, imprecise, spells instinctively chosen for their killing power with little thought to timing or grace. All he wanted to do was splash these interlopers on his territory across the stones….

He heard the flap of wings above him and instinctively leapt into the nearest shadow's safe embrace before he looked up to identify the target, his claws already trailing a rainbow eddy of power. If there was something above them, then he was one of the few who could reach it…

It was a heavily armored griffin, flying so low as to be sheltered and hidden amongst the taller buildings in this area. Friend, not foe. Packmate. He dismissed it as a target in heartbeat; he was here to destroy the dead, not his living allies. It moved on, giving no hint that it had noted his presence, surging across a roof to launch itself back into the air beyond. A moment later, its progress was marked by a sudden explosion, and a flurry of gunfire and guttural cursing a few yards from Ban's position.

The 7th has arrived. Evelyn is here. And there are Forsaken in that alleyway. Ban's mind fired again, released from the heady rush of animalistic instinct that had brought him this far. That was fine, that same instinct had brought him here, into the area he knew better than any other… just blocks from his home. He knew exactly how to avoid the alleyway, how to get to the other side, and where to strike from…and more importantly, where to fade back away to when he was done. The Bloodfang had chosen to assault the very heart of Gilneas, to draw the Forsaken deep into the city. As their numbers were bolstered by Gilnean worgen, arriving just behind the faster Bloodfang, they'd still keep the pressure off of the staging 7th.

Ban wrenched himself into a storm drain, cursing. He'd been much smaller the last time he'd made this passage, intent on evading the Night Watch patrol…they had tended to frown on public drunkenness, and one overnight stay in the city gaol had proved it was nowhere he preferred to be. His father had been almost amused the morning after, Bram had been lividly appalled.

Now he was cold sober, and a good twenty stone heavier than he'd been that evening. Certainly, he was longer, but nothing would change the fact he was much larger than he was accustomed to. But did he dare shift down, knowing the risk?

A few slithers later left him little choice, when he wedged himself painfully, and he sighed, shrinking and moving along on his elbows. This particular drain would leave him just outside of the warehouse…

He frowned at that idea. That was no place he wanted to return to, ever. His memories did not entirely mesh with what little Evelyn had aired… according to her, Bram had been torn into… dismembered… when he'd been recovered.

I did that. I went back and did that, purposefully, after the fact.

That was the only way it made sense. When Bram had attacked him, he'd defended himself…with a gun, and when that had failed, with magic. Bram had been dead, but whole, when Ban had come to. And he'd left him that way, running out into the streets. But he remembered flashes of what Evelyn described fragments of his own insanity.

If he had done that, returned to the warehouse after his fall, for no other reason than to take out his rage on Bram's lifeless corpse, could he have also been responsible for other things? His mother? His aunt? They had also been dismembered, torn apart…

No. I didn't. I really didn't. That was an empty certainty. No, he had left the Cathedral, staggering in pain, Crowley's blood in his mouth; Crowley's shot in his gut, and had headed towards the warehouse. It was the only way he knew to go, and it was in the generally correct direction to head for where his fuddled mind was screaming to go…north, deep into the Headlands.

He had committed crimes that night, but not those. He sighed, shaking his head, and continued down the pipeline. There was another muffled boom, another explosion above, and he moved faster. It would just be his brilliant luck to get himself crushed by a collapsing drain, exactly the end his mother had threatened him with on more than one occasion. "Not today, Mother." He whispered, glimpsing the rungs leading up at the end of the passage. No, today Banastre was being the last thing in the world that the late Beatrice Russell would have ever accused him of… a hero of Gilneas.

He popped out exactly where he'd intended, and the group of Forsaken, already under pressure from the griffin bombs falling from above were taken completely by surprise.

Ban opened up with a rolling volley of arcane power, sliding without conscious thought back into his lupine form as he came. Three leaps brought him into contact range, and he fell into their midst, flinging blood high onto the stone walls around him.

"Where are they assaulting at?" There was an edge of disbelief to Silas's voice, but Evelyn could sense the pack moving. It was much quieter than she was expecting, but then, hadn't it been quiet that night? It had been disturbing that the only real noises had been theirs, and never their attackers'… their screams. Their guns. Their glass shattering. Their high pitched orders. Their bells tolling in distress. The worgen had been mostly silent, a few snarls, and a few rare eerie howls had marked their progress. And they were too far out, on the bank of the inlet, to hear anything but the loudest of howls.

"The majority of the fightin' seems to be in this area, but tha' damnable fog makes it hard to pin down." The focus of Silas's question, a dwarf wearing the insignia of the 7th, and the blazon of the Wildhammer Clan, put his thumb down on the map stretched out on a camp table, and Evelyn studied the area. "The interior of the Military Quarter, and the Prison." She identified, and the dwarf nodded.

"Some spill over here and here…." He continued, indicating crescent horns radiating from the prison, to skirt the noble's quarter and the area she was from, the merchant's quarter.

"Fighting in a military and prison area should minimize civilian damages." Silas noted, "And it's probably where the Forsaken were concentrated in, anyways. Once they looted, there was little to hold them in the civilian areas of the city."

Looted. Evelyn locked her back teeth together and remained stubbornly silent. It was obvious. She knew it. But the idea of what she would find after this was over still clenched her heart. My home. Her farfetched dreams of settling back into a life with Ban, in that home, assumed that there still was a home left.

"Unless they burned it like the orcs burned Stormwind."

Evelyn had no idea who that helpful person was, and it was probably lucky for them. The fog hid their face from her, and she didn't recognize the voice.

"Nay." The dwarf denied immediately. "City's mostly intact, from what we see from our flyovers."

Silas nodded, raised blue eyes to Evelyn, and smiled. "Mostly intact, Miss Whittaker. And we'll do our best to keep it that way. So the worgen are pushing?"

"Aye, sir. Wyrmbane is holding until the guns are in position to protect the remaining bridge before we start, but the worgen are doing a fine job at keeping the majority of the Forsaken penned down in the Military district, right where we want them."


	18. Chapter 18

"Good." Silas breathed, and Evelyn nodded. It was that night, all over again, except today it was in their favor. Those were their worgen. Ban. Crowley. Gilneas's finest.

The guns spoke for the first time, and Ban paused, his ears swiveling. Now things got going….

A sudden rising howl from the packs answered the hollow, remote boom, and he gave tongue as well. His enhanced hearing caught the first whistle of an incoming round, and he surged for cover, dropping the targets he'd just been pursing. Discretion over valor, any day…

The round hit fast, and he did the calculations in his head. The guns were close. Damn close. His targets tried to turn, headed back for the city's walls, and the bridge, but he snorted in laughter. No, they were not going to get away from him. His job was to keep them here, out of sight from the massed guns, keep them off of the wall, off of the bridge. It was time for a little destruction of his own…

He surged along the roofs, passing over the heads of the command unit of Forsaken he'd been toying with. He knew this area like the back of his own hand, and there was only one easy way out of this section of cul de sac alleyways. There were several other hidden ways, but he doubted if the Forsaken had managed to discover those same ways to avoid detection that a ten year old Bannister had.

"Kyaaahhhh." He breathed, rising to his full height and focusing on the narrow sallyport that controlled access to this neighborhood. Flowing rainbow arcane tendrils followed his gesturing claws, erupting towards the brickwork gate. It exploded into a rain of shrapnel, destroying the nearest handful of Forsaken trying to keep up with him. Ban let go of a rude nose, then stumbled in a sudden, near blinding pain.

Damn. Hit.

He rolled off of the roof, thankfully falling on the opposite side of the house from the cut off Forsaken unit. He landed badly, gracelessly, almost on top of a Bloodfang inching along the shadows of the home's foundation.

"Ow." He muttered unnecessarily, and the other worgen chuckled.

"Shot in the ass." It noted coarsely, and Ban snorted in disgust. Coarse, but true. "They coming?" The feral continued, as if it was everyday that a male worgen with an arrow protruding from its rump fell off of a roof on top of him.

"They'll have to climb the house to do so." Ban grumbled against the slick cobbles. "The sallyport is collapsed." There was no word in the pack tongue for 'sallyport' so he had to speak it in common.

"The wha'?"

"The gate into this group of houses."

"Ah." The feral nodded sagely, his gaze far away from Ban. "Look."

At what? Ban fixed his attention to follow the gaze, focusing intently in that direction. The feral moved with the speed of a striking snake in that split second, grabbing the arrow sticking from Ban's rear, and yanking.

 

 

The report of the guns had become commonplace, a ceaseless backdrop of noise that Evelyn had long since tuned out. There was nothing but her own inner silence, the rhythm of her own breathing, the rush of blood through her ears, and the still grasp she had on the long rifle. The ground she was prone upon had long since warmed to her body temperature. Her grip on the gun was steady, but the Forsaken had not given her any targets yet. They were still bogged down in the Military Quarter, harried by the worgen, kept off of the wall.

"Ban, be careful…"

"Evelyn. We go." Silas barked from behind her, startling her out of her reverie. It was time…

A noise distracted Ban from his miserable and embarrassed licking, his mouth full of the taste of his own blood, the feral who had yanked the arrow and staunched the worst of the bleeding afterwards doing its best to politely ignore his contortions to tend it.

Bugles.

Ban pushed the pain from his mind and swarmed to the top of the nearest building, facing due west. The fog had begun to fade, he could glimpse roofs painted in sunlight, stretching out to the wall and the bridge. Evelyn. The main assault had begun.

"Thanks." He hissed to the feral, who merely shrugged in reply. "But I have to go. They're coming."

"Good." It growled in answer, sliding up the side of the building to stare in the same direction that Ban was focused in. "You go. I hold here."

The gravel gave to cobbles, and Evelyn mechanically switched weapons, cautiously studying the buildings surrounding her. They seemed empty, but that meant nothing. "Incoming worgen."

The warning came from one of dwarven griffin riders above and to her side, and Evelyn took her finger off of the trigger and rested it alongside the trigger guard in response. The fading fog released a single male worgen, blue and black, and she took a sudden breath in relief. Ban. Only Ban was that color, that build…

He was normally fleet and graceful, but he came on much slower than she was used to, his gait shortened in the back. The damn fool had gotten himself hurt again.

"You really need to learn how to duck." She stated when he approached, and he pinned his ears back at her reproachful tone, letting a slight whine free. He silenced when she threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his ruff.

"We've cut a lot of the cross paths within the city." His voice was hollow through his body; she could hear it echoing in his chest, and the deep throb of his heartbeat. He was reporting to Silas, but he did sling an arm around her, holding her close. "They're pinned down in those places we could trap them in, but we need help to keep that. And it will be dark soon."

Already? Had it really been that long? It seemed like just a moment, but yet, it seemed like it had gone on forever. She lifted her face and squinted upwards. Yes, he was correct. The depth of the shadows, the gilding on the roofs, all agreed that it was afternoon, and late afternoon at that. This time of year would bring night on quickly. And then it would grow cold and damp, and Ban injured at that...

"You need to be tended to." She muttered, grabbing a handful of ruff and giving it a yank. "Field hospital is this way." He locked his joints, refusing to move and she growled in response. "Silas!"

"Evelyn is right, Banastre. Get that seen to. We need you up and running at your best."

Ban bowed slightly, relaxing the lock on his joints and falling into step with her. She glimpsed blood, dark red until it mingled with his black points and vanished there. It started high up on his haunch, deep in the bundle of muscles he used to power his great, ground eating strides.

"Yes, I know." He grumbled, "I got shot in the ass. Go ahead and laugh."

She glanced at him, frowning. He felt bad. Like he had before, when the Curse had taken him. His ears hung horizontally, when they normally had a jaunty backwards swept angle to them. There were specks of foam in the corners of his mouth, and there was a faint ring of bloodshot pink around his eyes.

"You're sick." She accused, and he pinned his ears back.

"Poisoned is more like it. Damn Forsaken coat their arrows."

Evelyn moved faster, but he kept at the same methodical half stride and she was forced to return to him. "Change down." She ordered, leaning into him. If he went down like this, she'd never move him. It would take worgen, a couple of good sized males, to get him to the field hospital if he dropped in this form.

"Can't. I'm stuck."

She nodded in acknowledgement, she should have guessed. His unnatural size and nature was the only thing that kept him up, if he let it drop, he'd be down as well. "I'll warn them that you're coming." She breathed, and he snorted in answer. She didn't want to leave him, but staying at this crawling pace was impossible. They needed to know he was on his way, have everything prepared, the right medicines, the right people present. She gave him one last wary look and dropped into a run, away from him. There would be no hiding him this time, no prayers in a darkened cellar. No suffering from a gunshot, alone in the wilds, maddened and inhuman. This time, Banastre would get medical attention, the best that the finest Legion in the Alliance had to offer him.

The tents were mostly quiet; it was still early in the ground assault for a large number of causalities. "Wha' is it, lass?" The closest two healers, dwarves both, fixed their attentions on her.

"My…" What, exactly? "Fiancé, he's taken an arrow. It's poisoned, he's behind me…" She waved in the direction she'd come from and the pair galvanized into motion, hurrying in that way.

She followed, hissing when she came close enough to realize that Ban was down, wrapped in a miserable huddle on the stone flags, in the shadow of a deep corner. She almost rushed to him, stopped only by the warning growl of the mastiff on her heels.

"Wait!" She yelled, hearing the scrabble of the mastiff's claws on the stones, barreled to the side as it charged, knocking her off balance. There was a sensation like she'd been punched, as hard as a fully grown male worgen punched, high on her thigh, and she went down with a head splitting impact.

Stunned, she heard Ban howl in terror, felt him surge up to his back paws. No, he was hurt too badly for this. He needed to stay down…

"Evelyn!" He wailed, his voice pitching higher and higher through the syllables in her name. "No!" His scream rose into a crescendo of human and canine notes, finally settling on a canine howl, rising in fury and decibel levels.

She had to stop him, if she could just sit up, stand up, she could calm him. But nothing wanted to work correctly; it was as if all command of her own body had fled. All she could do was lie where she was, suddenly chilled, and very lethargic. Darkness rose, snatching her down, and then there was nothing.

She came to slowly. Warm, but there was a far away grinding pain in her thigh, and a fog of barely pushed back drugged sleep. She opened her eyes warily, and then gasped in disbelief. She was in a room, and she knew this room. The four poster bed, the embroidered counterpane, the lavish velvet curtains, in a deep shade of rose pink that she had never cared for, but that Ban's mother had found appropriate. She could hear people on the street below; hear the bells ringing in the Cathedral steeple. It was impossible. She was dead. That had to be the answer.

She stood cautiously, dizzy and weak, limping her way across the flower patterned rug to the window and cautiously pulling the curtains back. A majority of the diamond panes had shattered into spiderweb patterns, still held into the window by their thick iron bindings. The catch had been bent out of shape, and would not budge when she tried to pull it.

There was a pistol, one of hers, resting on the side table beside the window, and she habitually picked it up, and checked it. Loaded. Good. She pulled on the robe resting at the foot of the bed, lacy and embroidered with more flowers, and slid the pistol into its pocket. She tiptoed to the door, pushing it carefully open. The hallway, exactly as expected, darker than it should be. The great windows at each end had been covered by heavy woolen blankets, moving in a breeze. She grasped the edge of the closest one, lifting it. She was greeted by a sudden blast of colder air, and a beam of sunlight. The window had been shattered, gone except for the skeletal remains of the oriel setting, and beyond that… Gilneas.

She frowned, gripping the pistol's grip and sidling down the hallway. Bram's door, his parent's door, both firmly closed, but Ban's hung slightly open. She pulled up against the wall and peered in. He slept, flat on his back in his human form, pale as death. But he still lived, and he'd been cared for, here in his own home.

This close to the stairwell, she could hear muffled voices from the ground floor, and she considered them from the safety of Ban's doorway. One was higher pitched, female, she sounded like the 7th's warmage. Several deeper voices, male, Evelyn could recognize the paladin's amongst them. She wasn't dead, this was right, it had indeed happened. The gnawing pain in her leg was real. Ban asleep behind her, real. The bells rang, not in mourning, but as a clarion call of liberation.

She moved cautiously down the stairs, ignoring the blankets covering the windows all of the way down. The paladin was half in the hallway, leaning in the doorway to the parlor, when he caught sight of her. "Evelyn!" He yelped, moving to steady her. "You shouldn't be up, yet!"

His voice silenced the parlor, she could feel them wait. "What happened?" She asked, "Is it over?"

"We hold the City, and all points south." He was much stronger than Ban, easily picking her up off of the floor and moving back towards the stairs up. "There's still fighting, but it's north of here."

"I missed it?"

"Haven't you seen enough of it?" He demanded, carrying her back into her room and placing her back in the warm cocoon. "All you've been through and you want more?"

Evelyn wrinkled her nose at him. The answer was no, she'd wanted none of it. Ever. But to have come all this way, only to wake up in this damned room again. It was like a slap, the only proof that she had ever stood for Gilneas the burning pain in her leg. "Don't put me in here." She muttered, and he paused, looming over her.

"I was under the impression that this had been your room." He stated, confused, and she pondered the words.

"Had been. Isn't anymore." She hadn't slept here since that night. Even when she'd come back here, after Ban had fallen, she'd slept in his room. Or on the sofa downstairs in the hall. "It hasn't changed." She didn't expect him to understand that. It hadn't changed, but the girl who had slept here no longer existed. It was a mockery of everything.

"But you have." That was an insight she wasn't expecting from him, and she eyed him narrowly. Just because he was a giant man, stalwart and good, didn't make him Bram. He didn't necessarily share Bram's shortcomings and blind spots. "Where do you want to be, then?"

She took a deep breath, measuring him. He wasn't Bram, he wasn't Bram… "With Ban. In his room." A Gilnean would have put up a fuss at the very idea, but Silas merely leaned over, picked her up again, and moved to Ban's room.

"He needs his sleep, Evelyn." Silas whispered, resting her beside him. "He put up one hell of a fight when you went down. It took Crowley to stop him once he'd gotten going. He was going to kill himself, and damn near did. You're both done with this one."

Part of Evelyn shouted against the idea. Done? They'd barely gotten started. They didn't hold Gilneas, proper. The Forsaken still existed. They hadn't paid for what they'd done. "It's one little shot…" She breathed, and the paladin chuckled admiringly. One little shot. Everything she'd been through, and this was the first time she'd been on the receiving end of one. Always lucky, always blessed… Ban was the one with the penchant for getting himself messed up, not Evelyn.

"Well, Miss Whittaker, your 'one little shot' turned out to be quite a formidable one. It also took us awhile to get to you after it. We had to send in the Royal pack, Crowley, to calm things down enough to get to you and Russell. We did our best, but you may limp for the rest of your life."

"And Ban?"

"Is blessed. The affliction flowing through his veins bolsters him, he will recover. And he still has you. But for both of you, this part of the fight is over."

She contemplated his words, wrinkling her nose at him. He only shrugged in answer, moving towards the door. He gave her one last glance, his fingertips on the knob. "Sleep, Evelyn." He ordered, and she heard what he didn't quite come out and say. Either she slept on her own, or she slept from more drugs, but he was unyielding. She would sleep. She sighed in answer, rolling over to get comfortable next to Ban. The door snicked close behind Silas, and she stared at Ban's stilled face. Damn fool. But how was she any different today? She limped, hard, in spite of the attentions of priests and paladins. This time, she should have been the one to duck as well. Over. Yes, it probably was, for this time around. Evelyn was willing to accept that.


	19. Epilogue

The pair stood at the railing of the icebreaker Northspear, both staring in the same direction. The male stood on the left, dressed impeccably in a black wool greatcoat lined with scarlet silk. He wore a top hat, black leather gloves, and gripped a silver headed cane in the crook of his elbows. If he felt the cold, he gave little indication, his gray eyes fixed on the horizon before him. The woman with him stood at his right, wearing a gray woolen greatcoat that had seen better days. She gripped the railing with a mittened right hand, while her left grasped a heavier cane. Her hat was heavy knit wool, as was her muffler…her cheeks and nose were a vivid red from the cold. They were the only two out on the deck, even the crew had found warmer shelter.

"Stop that." She growled, although her companion had been silent. "You'll do fine."

"It's another mage school." He mourned in precise syllables, and she laughed in response.

"Well, it's the last. They can't send you to any more." She stated, and he raised a brow at her.

"Is that supposed to fill me with resolve?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No, Ban. It's merely the truth. Either way, this is the end of this. This is Dalaran. You've wanted this since you were in short pants. Only the best. Well," she motioned at the horizon, "It's there. Waiting for you."

"Us." He disagreed, and she wrinkled her nose.

"What use will I be here?" She sensed it the moment she asked, and raised brown eyes to his silver ones when she grasped it. "They have…."

"Feral worgen." He finished for her, resting his hand on hers. "Which are quite the problem, I'm told. Dalaran has asked for one of our Huntsmen. It only made sense that it be you, since you're coming here anyway."

"Nice." She breathed, leaning over the railings to catch the thread of her target on the wind. "Very nice indeed, Banastre." He squeezed her hand, and then pressed it slightly to warn her of the steward's approach from below deck.

"Ah, Lord Russell. Lady Russell." The man greeted, "The captain has told me to inform the pair of you that we will be arriving at Valgarde before nightfall. Your rooms will be waiting for you when you disembark. Welcome to Northrend."


End file.
